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He wriggled half way through, and handed one of the 
lighted ends down to William ” —Page 176 



The Black Brotherhood 

AND 

Some of Its Sisters 


A Story of Home and School 


Rev. R/Pr GARROLD, S.J. 

i) 

Author of ** Freddy Carr and His Friends 
*^The Boys of St. BatVst*' etc. 



New York Cincinnati Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS OF BENZIGEr’s MAGAZINE 

X912 




Copyright, 1912, by Benzigeb Brothers. 





TO 

feome Jfnenbia; of Mint 

WHO HELPED ME TO 
WRITE THIS STORY 


« 


There is a Kingdom magical, a Kingdom fair and 
true, 

With gardens bright, and rivers white, and a heaven 
harebell blue. 

And simple mind of a people kind as ever a young 
man knew. 

I sing it ; I say it ; I think of it all day long. 

For the story of my people is ever at tip of tongue, 

It hideth not in the heart of me, but breaketh full 
forth in song. 

Certain little lanes in shadow; certain little byways 
still ; 

Certain treasure deep and pleasure of a sunrise from 
a hill; 

Shadowed, hidden, highways haunted, and the burst 
of starlings’ trill. 

In that Kingdom I will hide me. I will take me 
to a land 

Where are sunshot trees and hedges, and the flowers 
grow out of hand. 

To a certain people kindly, whose houses as rocks 
do stand. 

And to my Kingdom splendid, my Kingdom kind and 
true. 

All glad and gay. I’ll go one day, and wander the 
whole land through, 

’Mid a people kind, of as happy a mind, as ever a 
young man knew. 


7 


c 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

Op Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 

CHAPTER II 

The Mine Explodes 

CHAPTER III 

A Meeting op the Brotherhood and its Results 
CHAPTER IV 

A Free Ride 

CHAPTER V 

Alexander at Bay 

CHAPTER VI 

Private and Confidential Communications . 

CHAPTER VII 

A Tea Party 

CHAPTER VIII 

The Knight and the Lady 

CHAPTER IX 

Susannah 

CHAPTER X 

Night Studies 

CHAPTER XI 

The Tragedy Begins 


PAGE 

11 

21 

35 

62 

79 

92 

105 

119 

134 

146 

164 


10 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XII 

Tommy's Ears ARE Boxed 181 

CHAPTER XIII 

A Most Drastic Punishment 199 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Tragedy Deepens ...... . 212 

CHAPTER XV 

Dissolution of the Brotherhood .... 228 

CHAPTER XVI 

Uncle James 244* 

CHAPTER XVII 

No. 56 PuLTENEY Street 266 

CHAPTER XVIII 

What Tommy Saw in the Cellar .... 280 

CHAPTER XIX 

Susannah Borrows Twopence 292 

CHAPTER XX 

Susannah Makes a Call 307 

CHAPTER XXI 

The Climax of the Tragedy 318 

CHAPTER XXII 

William Acts with Great Prudence and Dis- 
cretion 330 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Short but Glorious 353 

CHAPTER XXIV 

The Brotherhood Reunited 361 

Epilogue 375 


The Black Brotherhood and 
Some of Its Sisters 


CHAPTER I 

OF CANDLE ENDS AND KINDRED SUBJECTS 

T T IS not recorded how the Black Brotherhood 
came into existence, nor why it was so called, 
nor what its exact objects were. Like the Brit- 
ish Constitution, it grew little by little, and 
depended more upon tradition and precedent 
than upon any formal written document. 
There was always something mysterious and 
inexplicable about it, and that is one of the 
reasons why I do not attempt to describe its 
origin, but introduce it when fully developed ^ 
at a date and a moment when its members had 
just entered upon their first term in the Third 
Form. To be quite precise, it was on a Mon- 
day evening at twenty minutes to five. 

To look at, they did not appear particularly 
black, in fact scarcely black at all. One was 
distinctly chubby and pink, one was chubby 
and brown, and one was pale and had yellow- 
ish, curly hair. Yet in spite of this absence of 
11 


12 Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 

anything that could justify their grim appella- 
tion, they were the Black Brotherhood, the 
whole of it ; there were no more black brothers. 
The name of the one with yellowish curly hair 
was Comoran, and his Christian name was 
Alexander. The names of the other two will 
come out later on, but just at this point Alex- 
ander is the most important, so I should like 
to have him quite clear. Yellowish curly hair, 
a pale face and a quite extraordinary power 
of looking virtuous. 

Now the whole of this rather bulky book is 
taken up with narrating the adventures of 
these three black brothers, and if I were asked 
to explain why I am writing it I might find 
it rather difficult to do so. It is certainly not 
because I think them particularly wise, or, in- 
deed, in any way very remarkable, nor yet 
because I think their example is likely, in every 
particular at least, to edify and elevate; nor 
again is it because their career teaches the valu- 
able lesson (as undoubtedly it does) that 
people who do silly things are apt to regret it. 
I fancy the real reason must be that I like the 
Black Brothers, though they often made ex- 
orbitant demands upon my patience, and that 
I enjoy watching over their fortunes as a sort 
of amiable presiding genius. But, after all. 


Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 13 

why should I be at pains to explain to a cold 
world my reasons for writing? It is for you, 
dear sir or madam, to judge whether you find 
it worth the reading, and for you again to dis- 
cover the moral which I assure you is written in 
it large as life, if you will only take the trouble 
to look about a little for it. And so to our black 
heroes again. 

On this particular Monday afternoon, at 
twenty minutes to five, all three were in their 
class room, which, to begin with, was a foolish 
thing, because they ought to have started for 
home at four fifteen. Alexander was sitting 
on a desk swinging his legs and scowling sav- 
agely. The other two were slowly, and with 
long intervals for rest and conversation, put- 
ting their books away. 

“It’s puffectly disgusting,” said Alexander, 
in a tone of great exasperation. “We’ll just 
have to do something soon,” and he thrust his 
hands deep into his pockets. 

“You’ve said that before,” said one of the 
chubby Black Brothers — William May was his 
name. Besides being chubby he wore a Nor- 
folk suit and the knees of his stockings had 
been darned, and his collar had a spot of ink 
on it. All of which are Indications of Char- 
acter. 


14 Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 

“I dessay I have,” answered Alexander 
snappishly; “I dessay I shall say it again; I 
shall if I like.” 

‘‘All right, you canf' said William; “it won’t 
stop it being pretty silly,” and he returned 
contemptuously to the task of packing up his 
books. 

“If you think I’m goin’ to be called names 
by a kid like you,” said Alexander, getting 
down from his seat, “you’re jolly well mis- 
taken, young Billy.” He came over in the di- 
rection of William’s desk with the intention of 
pushing his French dictionary on to the floor, 
which would have been an act of war. How- 
ever, at this moment the third Black Brother 
interposed. Though he was the youngest and 
smallest of the three, he enjoyed the privilege 
of wearing long trousers, and was the only boy 
in the class who could boast of that distinction. 
There were grave reasons for it, as we shall 
see later on. He wore a necktie, tied in a bow, 
of a beautiful heliotrope color, flecked with 
pink spots; also his boots needed blacking 
very badly. These again are Indications of 
Character. His name was Tommy Browne. 

“Oh, chuck it, Aleck,” he said wearily, under- 
standing the meaning of Alexander’s move. 
“If you kick up a row some one’ll come. Why 


Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 15 

don’t you think of somethin’ sensible to do, 
’stead of jawin’?” 

“I have thought of things,” said Alexander, 
in an aggrieved tone, “hut Billy an’ you always 
funk doing them.” 

“ ’Cos they’re generally cribbed out of books 
and won’t work,” said William. 

“Or else too dangerous,” said Tommy; 
“there’s no fun in gettin’ sent down every 
day.” 

''Well, *we*ve got to do somethin\'^ said 
Alexander deliberately, and with a defiant look 
at William, “and pretty soon. Considering 
we’ve only just begun trigonometry, I call it 
puffectly scand’lus.” 

“We’ll have about a hundred examples a 
night by the end of term if it goes on like this,” 
said Tommy mournfully, “and it’s no use askin’ 
him not to, ’cos he only makes some silly joke if 
you do.” 

No one answered, and Alexander put his 
hands in his coat pocket and stared despond- 
ently at the blackboard. There were some 
mathematical formulae written on it, which he 
carefully smudged with his little finger, and 
then returned his hand to his pocket again. 
The pocket was fairly full of miscellaneous 
articles, and it so happened that the one uppers 


16 Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 

most at that moment was a piece of candle end. 
A trivial circumstance, you may think, and yet 
one upon which the whole of this story depends. 
I do not exaggerate when I say that the long 
and complicated series of adventures which 
are about to unfold before the reader flow from 
that candle end. Our whole vast edifice is built 
upon it. In an evil hour had Alexander ex- 
tracted it illicitly from a candlestick on the 
hall table, with a view to indulging in a little 
light reading at night after the orthodox means 
of illumination had been removed. 

For no reason in particular, except perhaps 
that it was uppermost, he drew it from his 
pocket and thoughtfully pinched the end to see 
if it were soft. Then he rubbed his nail down 
it, making a crinkly strip come off. And then, 
still without any particular reason, he ran it 
along the sharp edge of the blackboard so as to 
make a notch in it. 

The other two had been watching him, and 
at this point they interposed. “Look out, you 
silly idjut,” said William; “you’ll spoil the 
board if you don’t mind.” 

“Will I?” said Alexander loftily. “Who 
cares!” And he deliberately drew the candle 
end, broadside on, across the board, making a 
thick, greasy line. 


Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 17 

‘'You assf* cried Tommy in alarm, “you’ve 
spoiled the whole show. It won’t write where 
you’ve greased it.” 

“Won’t it?” said Alexander; “how funny!” 
and he drew another thick line across the board 
in the opposite direction. Then he stepped 
back a pace or two and surveyed his handi- 
work. “There!” he said, “I fancy that’ll about 
fetch him; you can’t say I got that out of a 
book.” 

The reason of the thing dawned at this point 
upon the other two. It was a measure of re- 
taliation. They stood for a moment speechless 
with awe and admiration. 

Alexander drew another line, and then held 
out the candle end to William. “Now you do 
some,” he said. William hesitated. “Afraid!” 
said Alexander scornfully. 

“I’m not,” said William. 

“Well, take it, then,” said Alexander, and 
William took it. After a moment’s thought he 
wrote on the board (in candle grease) the 
words Cos, Sin, Tan. They are trigonometri- 
cal technicalities, in case you have not got so 
far. 

“Good!” said Alexander. “Now you. 
Tommy.” Tommy took the candle end, and 
not to be outdone in originality, wrote under- 


18 Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 

neath, “Is all rot.’’ Then all three stepped 
back and surveyed the blackboard in silence. 

You could only read the writing if you 
looked at it at certain angles ; at first sight there 
did not seem to be anything the matter with 
the board. It was when you tried to write on 
it with chalk that the full extent of the damage 
became manifest. The chalk slithered about 
in a helpless sort of way and refused to make 
more than a few feeble scratches. 

“Won’t there be a row when he tries to write 
on it to-morrow!” said William, and gave a 
nervous sort of giggle. Nobody answered this 
remark, but Thomas said he thought they’d 
better cut off as soon as possible, which was 
certainly sensible. They were just about to fol- 
low his advice when the noise of footsteps was 
heard in the passage outside. The candle end 
disappeared with lightning-like rapidity, and 
all three were immediately engrossed in the 
task of putting up their books. 

They breathed more freely when they saw 
who it was. It was Mr. Tanqueray. Now, 
Mr. Tanqueray was one of those beautiful souls 
(too rare, alas! in this imperfect world) who 
never suspect anything and never notice things. 
When he saw the Black Brothers packing 
up their books he simply said, “Now, what 


Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 19 

are you boys doing here? You ought to have 
gone home long ago.” Nothing more than 
that. 

“Please, sir, we’re just going,” said Alex- 
ander, looking more virtuous than usual; he 
was always at his best when taken red handed. 
The logically minded will notice that it was not 
really an answer, but fortunately Mr. Tan- 
queray was no blind worshiper of logic, and 
only told them to be quick and asked them if 
they’d seen his spectacles. They said they had 
not, and at once began politely to look for 
them, trying all the time to keep between Mr. 
Tanqueray and the board, though the precau- 
tion was scarcely necessary. 

They did not find the spectacles, because, as 
a matter of fact, they were at that moment 
lying beneath a pile of examination papers in 
Mr. Tanqueray’s own room. When the search 
was at last abandoned the three boys shut up 
their desks and wished the master good night. 
He followed them out of the room and locked 
the door after him. 

“I thought we were spotted that time for a 
dead cert,” said William, when they got out- 
side into the street. “Didn’t you, chaps?” 

“Not much,” said Alexander; “I don’t be- 
lieve Old Tanks ’d notice if you let a gun off 


20 Of Candle Ends and Kindred Subjects 

under his chair. I wish some of the others were 
a bit more like him.” 

“The Coon isn’t,” said William. 
golly r This last exclamation was due to the 
fact that at that moment they had, in turning 
a corner, almost run into the arms of Mr. Paul 
Colquhoun, the very object of their recent dis- 
approval. But he fortunately did not hear, 
and nodded pleasantly to them as they raised 
their caps. After that they went home and 
spent part of the evening in working out trig- 
onometrical examples and the rest in wonder- 
ing what would happen next morning. If the 
truth must be told, all three rather wished they 
hadn’t done it, and they would have wished that 
still more if they had had any inkling of all it 
was to lead to. But the future being fortu- 
nately hidden from them, they slept fairly 
peacefully, hoping for the best. 


CHAPTER II 


THE MINE EXPLODES 

M R. Paul Colquhoun was a model of 
punctuality, neatness, and all the math- 
ematical virtues. He always arrived in the 
class room five minutes before the adver- 
tised hour for starting, and so had everything 
arranged in order by the time the class assem- 
bled. On the desk was the open register ready 
for marking ; by the side of it a pile of exercise 
books exquisitely corrected in red ink; on the 
top of the exercise books, precisely in the 
center, a few small squares of white paper; by 
the side of the pile a pair of blackboard com- 
passes and three pieces of chalk — white, blue, 
and red. Mr. Colquhoun himself stood three 
feet from the desk with his eyes fixed on the 
door to guard against the possibility of any 
boy bringing mud in on his boots. If he did, 
“he left much quicker than he came” (as the 
poet says) — “for reasons/^ 

When next morning the three Black Broth- 
ers entered the class room everything was 
just as usual. A cautious glance at the black- 
board showed no miracle during the night had 


21 


22 


The Mine Ea^plodes 


repaired the damage, a glance at Mr. Colqu- 
houn calmly examining boots assured them the 
outrage was still undiscovered, and that the 
bomb had still to explode. With anxious 
hearts and many secret misgivings they took 
their places and waited for the crash. 

It was a disconcertingly long time in coming. 
Mr. Colquhoun began the lesson by comment- 
ing severely on the character of the work he 
had just been correcting. The class listened 
respectfully and without impatience, for 
though it was painful to hear that their master 
was not satisfied with their well-meant efforts 
to carry out his instructions, it was at least so 
much time taken off the hour, a short respite 
from the brain-fag inseparable from the study 
of trigonometry. But their feelings changed 
when he wound up his address by saying that 
they would find the examples which had to be 
done again indicated by a small red cross. 
Then he distributed the pile of exercise books, 
and a sigh of dismay went up as they saw with 
what an unsparing hand these tokens had been 
distributed. Comoran had no less than five, 
and began to feel glad, in spite of danger, that 
the sword of vengeance had been unsheathed. 

When at last Mr. Colquhoun had finished 
his denunciatory address, he proceeded* to offer 


23 


The Mine Eooplodes 

a few remarks upon the subject of logarithms, 
and in the first place endeavored to obtain from 
the class an accurate definition. It is matter 
for regret that they were unable to provide him 
with one ; even Attwood, the mathematical star 
of the class (he was generally believed to be 
related to the man who made the machine, 
which you will have heard about if you have 
done mechanics), broke down in the middle 
and mixed things up. Mr. Colquhoun was 
justly indignant. “How often have I told 
you,” he exclaimed, “that you must know this 
definition at least. How often have I repeated 
it to you, and told you to learn it, and empha- 
sized its importance in every imaginable way? 
Potter, haven’t I done so at least a hundred 
times?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the member addressed, a 
biggish boy with a rather stolid face. His tone 
of voice was respectfully sympathetic, as of one 
who mourns for a calamity he is powerless to 
avert. 

“Yes, at the very least,” said Mr. Colqu- 
houn. “Probably more. Well, I will give it 
once again ; listen, all of you,” and he repeated 
with upraised finger and in an emphatic voice : 
""The Logarithm of a number to a given base 
is the index of the power to which the base must 


24 


The Mine Explodes 

he raised to produce that number/^ The class 
listened attentively, and one or two appeared 
to be taking notes. 

“Now,” continued Mr. Colquhoun, “that 
you may have no possible excuse next time, I 
will write the definition on the board in char- 
acters as large as the space at my disposal will 
permit.” He stopped at the desk and took up 
a piece of chalk. Three hearts under three 
waistcoats began to beat with unusual rapidity. 

He executed the preliminary flourish to 
what, under happier circumstances, would have 
been a very fine capital T, and applied the 
chalk to the board. It so happened that it 
alighted in the very middle of one of Alex- 
ander’s diagonal lines. The inevitable result 
followed, and in trying a second time the chalk 
broke. There was a faint titter, which was im- 
mediately suppressed as Mr. Colquhoun turned 
and faced the class. 

“What monkey trick is this?” he asked in- 
dignantly. “Which of you has been tamper- 
ing with the board?” He cast a searching 
glance round the room, and nearly every one 
looked uncomfortable except Comoran, who 
merely looked more virtuous than usual. It 
was perhaps this singularity which attracted 
Mr. Colquhoun’s attention. “Comoran,” he 


The Mine Explodes 


25 


said, after a lengthy survey and a rapid calcu- 
lation of probabilities, “will you come out here, 
please?’' Comoran rose at once, apparently 
quite unperturbed. His fellow-conspirators 
turned cold all over and blew their noses to hide 
their embarrassment. “Stand just there, 
please,” said Mr. Colquhoun, indicating a place 
at the side of the blackboard. “Now, teU me 
what you see.” 

'‘See, sir!” said Alexander with mild sur- 
prise, and gazing thoughtfully out of the win- 
dow. “Nothing, sir.” 

“No impertinence, Comoran,” said the 
master. “Not out of the window — on the 
board.” 

“It looks like writing, sir,” said Alexander, 
after a careful examination, with a slightty in- 
credulous intonation, as though to suggest that 
we can not always believe the evidence of our 
senses. 

“Does it not, Comoran?” said the master. 
“Perhaps you will be good enough to read it 
for us.” 

“I think it looks like cos, sin, tan, sir,” said 
Comoran, after another lengthy survey. 

“Yes, and what else, Comoran,” said Mr. 
Colquhoun impatiently. Comoran was silent, 
and modestly cast down his eyes. 


26 


The Mine Explodes 


^'Read it/" thundered the master. 

“Is all rot, sir,” said Comoran, trying to con- 
vey the impression that he did not share in the 
unfavorable judgment. The class tittered 
rather more loudly, but Mr. Colquhoun left 
them unrebuked. His eyes were fixed on 
Comoran, who looked the very picture of the 
good boy who has just said his lesson well. But 
Mr. Colquhoun knew his Alexander, or fancied 
he did, and felt surer than ever that he had hit 
upon the culprit. 

“Comoran,” he said slowly, “didn’t I meet 
you last night near the college some little time 
after the end of afternoon schools — somewhere 
about Smith Street, if I remember rightly?” 

This question made William and Thomas, 
who had been watching the duel with breath- 
less interest, give themselves up for lost. But 
their representative never turned a hair. “Yes, 
sir,” he said brightly. “It was just at the 
corner.” 

“It must have been nearly five o’clock, 
Comoran, was it not?” continued the master. 

“I should think it would be about that, sir,” 
Comoran agreed. 

“And had you come straight from the col- 
lege, Comoran?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Comoran, adding with ap- 


27 


The Mine Explodes 

parent eagerness to impart information, ‘‘I 
came out by the front door and crossed over 
to the other side of Leicester Street, and then, 
I remember, I went ” 

“That will do, Comoran,” interrupted his 
questioner, “I want to know whether you were 
in this room before you left the college?” 

“Yes, sir, I was,” said Comoran frankly, 
without letting it appear that he suspected any 
sinister intention in the question. His accom- 
plices by this time were in a state of nervous 
collapse, desiring only that their agony might 
be shortened. The next question made their 
despair absolute. 

“Were you alone, Comoran,” said Mr. Col- 
quhoun in a peculiar, silky voice, which every 
one knew to be dangerous. 

“No, sir,” said Comoran, still outwardly un- 
moved. 

""Not alone, Comoran,” repeated Mr. Col- 
quhoun impressively. “May I ask who was 
with you?” 

I don’t think, myself, it was quite a fair 
question, and perhaps Mr. Colquhoun deserved 
what he got. For Alexander looked up 
brightly, as though pleased at being able to 
oblige. “Mr. Tanqueray, sir,” he said, and his 
questioner fairly gasped. 


28 


The Mine Explodes 

“He’d lost his spectacles, sir,” he continued 
confidentially, “and I stopped behind to help 
him look for them. I didn’t know I was doing 
anything wrong, sir.” 

There was just the faintest suspicion of a 
note of triumph in Comoran’s voice as he 
brought out the trump card, and Mr. Colqu- 
houn did not fail to notice it. The card had 
certainly been played with considerable skill, 
but naturally that did not tend to soothe the 
master. He dismissed Comoran to his place 
with an angry gesture, and Comoran, on his 
way back, foolishly winked at the class in gen- 
eral. In moments of success he generally lost 
his head a little. Mr. Colquhoun noticed the 
wink, but did not comment upon it. Perhaps 
he thought it was justifiable, under the cir- 
cumstances, or perhaps he was too angry to 
trust himself to inflict any penalty just then. 
He waited till the end of the hour before he 
made his countermove. Then, when the bell 
rang for the morning twenty minutes’ break, 
instead of dismissing the class, he told them to 
remain in their places. “This piece of mis- 
chievous impudence must not go unpunished,” 
he said impressively. “The whole class will 
remain in now and continue to work out ex- 
amples, and will do so every morning until the 


29 


The Mine Explodes 

offender or offenders are brought to justice. 
Any boy who likes to come to me and assure 
me on his word of honor that he knows nothing 
of the matter can go to the playground as 
usual.” He then departed, briefly indicating 
the fact that he intended to remain in the im- 
mediate neighborhood, and that therefore it 
would be unwise in any member of the class to 
depart from the line of conduct prescribed, or 
to seek solace in conversation. 

A subdued whistle of indignation accom- 
panied his departing footsteps. “Well, I’m 
blowed/^ said Potter, who sat next the door, 
and who was no less remarkable for size than 
for a particularly deep-rooted dislike for math- 
ematics. 

“I vote nobody goes, just to show him,” said 
the boy next to him. McClane was his name, 
and he also was fairly big. He had red hair, 
and was remarkable for being the best half- 
back for his size ever known. Perhaps this 
accounts for the fact that his extremely silly 
proposal was received with almost universal 
favor. The only dissentient was Attwood, the 
mathematical genius, who had no examples 
marked wrong, and so felt the penalty more 
keenly. Attwood was smaller even than 
Tommy, but very enterprising; there was 


30 


The Mine EiVplodes 


something about him that suggested a sharp 
little fox-terrier. 

“What rot,” he said, in answer to McClane’s 
proposal. “What on earth’s the good of our 
all stoppin’ in if young Comoran did it. I bet 
he did, ’cos he winked.” 

This remark naturally attracted general at- 
tention to Alexander, who met the gaze of the 
class with his usual composure, though in- 
wardly extremely uneasy as to the way in which 
matters were going to develop. Experience 
had taught him that the safest course with Att- 
wood was to assume the aggressive. “Some 
beastly little pluggers that get all their ex- 
amples right,” he said firmly and with great 
emphasis, “seem to get chestier every day.” 

“Plugger yourself,” retorted Attwood, 
though Mr. Colquhoun would scarcely have 
endorsed the opinion. He was proceeding to 
a further protest when a note of warning from 
Potter, who was keeping guard at the door, cut 
him short. “Shut up, he’s coming back,” said 
Potter ; “we’ve got to do these beastly examples 
some time, so we may as well do ’em now. We 
can skin young Commy afterward if he really 
did it.” The class accepted Potter’s view of 
the matter and returned to their studies. When 
Mr. Colquhoun reached the door all within was 


31 


The Mine Explodes 

calm and industry, though the hearts of the 
Black Brothers were still beating rather fast. 
They had had a narrow squeak, for the whole 
class might have elected to go out and they have 
been left alone. 

Fortunately, at the end of morning school 
Potter, the arch enemy, was in trouble, and 
had to interview a certain Authority, and the 
rest of the class postponed the proposed in- 
quiry and went home to dinner. Consequently 
the three brothers were able to hold a short 
consultation in the class room. Tommy 
Browne was loud in his expression of admira- 
tion at the way Alexander had saved the situa- 
tion. “You are a chap, Alick,” he said enthusi- 
astically. “If he’d called me out I’d have gone 
as red as fire and given the whole show away.” 
William, on the other hand, who was a little 
jealous, pretended to make light of the exploit. 
He said it was quite easy and any one could 
do it on his head. 

“Could they!” said Alexander, not unnat- 
urally indignant at being robbed of his just 
recognition. “I’d just like to see you do it, 
young Billy.” 

“It’s only because you’re anaemic and haven’t 
got any blood,” retorted William. “I heard 
your aunt say so, so you needn’t talk.” William 


32 


The Mine Explodes 

lived next door to Alexander, which sometimes 
gave him an unfair advantage. Alexander did 
not reply to this offensive remark, but pro- 
ceeded at once to action. He collared William 
vigorously, and after a short struggle suc- 
ceeded in getting him down and kneeling on 
his shoulders, having taken him rather by sur- 
prise. ‘'I’m angemic, am I?” he said furiously. 
“I haven’t got any blood, haven’t I? I’ll teach 
you, you little shrimp!” He punctuated each 
remark with a vigorous thump. William 
struggled violently to get free, but without 
effect, for science teaches us that when once 
another person has his knees firmly planted on 
our shoulders it is impossible to remove him 
without external aid. The wisest thing under 
such circumstances is to lie still and come to 
terms. 

“Say I’m not anaemic,” said Alexander 
wrathfully, but William only glared at him. 
“Le’ me go, you silly idjut,” he gasped, being 
somewhat winded by the thumps. 

“Not till you say I’m not anaemic,” said 
Alexander, and as William for reply only made 
a more furious struggle, he dexterously doubled 
up his little finger and squeezed it in such a 
way as to bring tears into his victim’s eyes. 
And if you doubt whether such an effect can 


33 


The Mine Explodes 

be produced by means so simple, get some one 
to double up your little finger and squeeze it. 
If it doesn’t hurt, you may conclude that he 
doesn’t know the trick. 

will you, Billy?” said Alexander, but 
William only shook his head, being what you 
might call an extremely obstinate young man. 
Alexander was just on the point of applying 
the torture a second time when Tommy, who 
had been watching the proceedings from the 
door, suddenly interposed. “Look out,” he 
said; “there is some one coming.” 

“Shut the door, then, you ass!” said Alex- 
ander, who naturally did not want to throw 
away his advantage. 

“He’ll hear me if I do,” said Tommy; 
“you’d better look out, he’s quite close and it 
sounds like one of the masters.” The look of 
alarm on his face assured Alexander that it was 
not, as he had at first suspected, a trick, and he 
reluctantly released his victim and rose to his 
feet. He had scarcely done so when Mr. Tan- 
queray appeared in the doorway. 

He eyed the Black Brothers with marked 
disapproval. “What! here againr he said; 
“you three boys seem to live in this room. 
What’s the matter with you. May?” he added, 
for William’s state of distress was too obvious 


34 


The Mine Explodes 

to escape even Mr. Tanqueray’s observation. 

‘‘Nothing, sir,” said William stoutly. 

“Oh, nonsense,” said Mr. Tanqueray, “what 
have you two been doing to him?” 

“Please, sir, we were only playin’,” said the 
loyal William, mopping his eyes. 

“He got hurt a little, sir,” said Tommy help- 
fully, “but I don’t think it’s much.” 

Mr. Tanqueray paused a moment. “I think 
I ought to punish you all three severely,” he 
said, “and if I find you here again after school 
I certainly shall. Now get along at once and 
don’t let me have any more of it.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said all three, with a touch 
of fervor, and straightway bolted. They did 
not pause until they got outside, for sometimes 
the most amiable masters change their minds. 


CHAPTER III 


A MEETING OF THE BROTHERHOOD AND ITS 
RESULTS 



HAT was a little bit of all right,” said 


Alexander when they got outside. ‘Tt 
was jolly lucky it was him.” 

“He’s a real decent sort,” said Tommy fer- 
vently. “He is the decentest master in the 
whole place.” William made no contribution 
to the chorus of praise. He stalked along in 
silence, his hands in his pockets and a haughty 
expression on his face. He was obviously medi- 
tating on his wrongs. 

“Billy’s in a rage,” said Tommy; “you 
shouldn’t have squeezed his finger so hard.” 

“Well, he shouldn’t ’ve called me names, 
then,” said Alexander. There was an un- 
comfortable pause. The Black Brothers 
were at loggerheads at one of the most 
critical moments of their eventful history, a 
moment when concerted action was especially 
necessary. 

“I say, make it up, Billy,” said Tommy, who 
generally acted as peacemaker in the not in- 
35 


36 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

frequent civil wars. ‘‘Aleck’s beastly sorry, 
and we can’t go on with the meeting unless 
you do.” 

"'Chaps that squeeze other chaps" fingers 
when they"re down are simply cads/" said 
William — to the sky, apparently. 

“I say, make it up, there’s a good chap,” said 
Tommy, offering no comment on the general 
proposition, “ ’cos we’ve got to settle somethin’ 
about what we’re goin’ to do, and we can’t if 
you don’t.” 

“He’s got to say, ‘I’m sorry for being a 
beastly cad,’ ” said William, still addressing the 
sky, “and he’s got to let me squeeze his finger 
while I count six.” 

Tommy sighed and looked pathetically at 
Aleck as these exacting terms of peace were 
delivered. The way of peacemakers is hard, 
and William, as I said, was a desperately obsti- 
nate person. However, Aleck was as anxious 
for peace as anybody, being really grateful for 
the way William had behaved, and also anxious 
to go on with the meeting. 

“I’ll say, ‘I am sorry I was a beast,’ ” he said, 
“and I’ll let him squeeze my finger while you 
count three. But he’ll have to say I’m not 
angemic.” 

“But you are,” said William, suddenly be- 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 37 

coming human again; “your aunt said you 
were; I heard her myself.” 

“You shouldn’t go about saying things you 
hear people say,” said Aleck severely, “and if 
you’re going to go on being nasty about it I’m 
off.” 

“I’ll say, ‘Your aunt said you were ansemic, 
but perhaps you aren’t,’ ” said William hastily, 
a little alarmed at the threat, “and Tommy can 
do the counting, only he’ll have to swear not to 
count too fast, and it’ll have to be four instead 
of three.” 

Aleck considered for a moment. The pros- 
pect of having his finger mangled by William 
in his present temper was by no means a pleas- 
ant one, but it seemed the only way to the alto- 
gether desirable peace. So he gave a rather 
half-hearted assent, and pointed out a side 
street and an empty shop, in the doorway of 
which the ceremony of reconciliation might be 
conveniently performed. Accordingly they 
crossed over and the two faced each other. 

“Now,” said Thomas, who stood in the 
middle, “you first, Billy.” 

''His aunt said he was ance^nic, hut perhaps 
he isn^t/^ said William, tucking up his sleeve 
and preparing for the squeeze. 

“I’m sorry I was a beast,” said Aleck, and 


38 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

held out his left hand submissively, with the 
little finger bent conveniently for squeezing. 

“YouVe sworn not to count too fast, mind,” 
said William, with a warning glance at 
Tommy. 

“All right,” answered Tommy; “fire away — 
one— two — three — four, let him go!” 

In the short space indicated by the above 
numerals Alexander had described the opening 
movements of a very fine cake walk dance. 
When his finger was liberated it went immedi- 
ately into his mouth. crumbsT he said, 

but a little indistinctly, because of the finger. 
You see William knew the trick, 

“It’ll only hurt for a second or two,” said 
Tommy soothingly. “We can go on with the 
meeting now, can’t we?” 

“We can’t have a meeting in the middle of 
the street; we’d better go into the park for a 
bit,” said William, who had quite recovered his 
good temper again. They went into the park 
and sat down on a bench at the foot of the 
statue of Mr. Sadbrick, the celebrated states- 
man. Aleck still had his finger in his mouth, 
and seemed inclined to keep it there. “You 
needn’t pretend it’s still hurting,” said William, 
after a pause, “because I know it isn’t, and 
you squeezed mine a lot harder.” 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 39 

“At any rate I didn’t blub about it,” an- 
swered Aleck, a remark which might easily 
have led to a renewal of hostilities had not 
the peacemaker Tommy rapidly interposed. 
“What are we going to do, supposing he says 
the same to-morrow about going out at recess, 
if you say you haven’t done it?” he remarked 
suddenly by way of introducing the all impor- 
tant matter. The sentence is a little inco- 
herent, but they understood what he meant, as 
I hope the reader will. 

“The chances are he won’t,” said William, 
“ ’specially as it missed fire to-day. And even 
if he does, they may not.” 

“It’s that little beast Atty I’m afraid of,” 
answered Tommy. “Any one could see he’d 
made up his mind it was Aleck, and he’ll prob- 
ably go about telling all the chaps. Do shut up 
sucking your finger, Aleck, and have a meeting 
properly.” 

Aleck, in response, took his finger from his 
mouth, tucked the injured hand under his arm 
and gave a whistle of pain. 

“I don’t believe he can think of anything to 
say,” said William, “and he’s only shamming 
and pretending his finger hurts so’s to have 
an excuse.” 

“Can’t you really think of anything, Aleck?” 


40 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

said Tommy, in whom anxiety swallowed up 
every other emotion. 

^Course I can,” said Aleck, “but how can I 
tell you with my finger aching like a house on 
fire?” and he replaced it in his mouth. 

“Rot!” said William; “I didn’t squeeze it as 
hard as all that,” but Aleck took no notice. 

“It’s an absolutely certain plan,” he con- 
tinued, wrapping his finger carefully in his 
handkerchief with occasional exclamations of 
pain. “It’ll stop us being kept in to-morrow 
and end the whole thing without any bother.” 

“Well, what is it?” said William, whose curi- 
osity was aroused. “If you don’t tell us we 
shall think it’s all humbug.” 

“Don’t you wish you hadn’t squeezed my 
finger so hard, Billy?” said Aleck gently. 

“I’ll say ‘y^s,’ ” said William sulkily. He 
was getting hungry, and knew Aleck’s ways. 

“How many examples will you do for me 
to-night, Billy?” asked Aleck softly. 

William squirmed with indignation at this 
unlooked-for attack, but he was fairly in the 
toils. “Three,” he said at last, after a severe 
internal struggle. For his natural impulse 
was to punch Aleck’s head, and I’m not saying 
it would have been an altogether regrettable 
thing if he had. 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 41 

‘‘Three of the hardest Aleck continued, 
“and Tommy’s witness?” 

William snorted with indignation, hut a 
spasm of pain ran through Aleck’s finger at 
the sound, and he tucked it under his arm again. 
William took the hint. “All right,” he grunted ; 
“I think it’s pretty mean, all the same.” 

“And you’ll lend me your pea-shooter next 
Saturday afternoon, won’t you, Billy?” mur- 
mured Aleck. “My finger’s getting much bet- 
ter, and it’s an absolutely safe plan,” he added 
encouragingly. 

Once again the desire to punch Aleck’s head 
struggled for the mastery in William’s bosom 
with curiosity to know the plan, and a 
growing sense of emptiness inside, and once 
again curiosity and hunger — a formidable 
coalition — triumphed. He grunted a dissatis- 
fied assent. 

And then Aleck unfolded the plan. It was a 
plan so bold, and yet withal so statesmanlike, 
that I feel sure the heart of Mr. Sadbrick must 
have warmed in sympathy beneath his bronze 
waistcoat as he listened to its unfolding. Pos- 
sibly, could he have intervened, he would have 
pointed out that its single weakness lay in its 
very logical perfection. “Ah, my dear young 
friends,” he would doubtless have remarked. 


42 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

‘‘though your plan reveals no inconsiderable 
astuteness, you have yet to learn the fate that 
awaits those misguided men who attempt to 
apply the rules of logic to the practical affairs 
of life.” 

The plan, in outline, took the following 
shape. Aleck agreed in the main with Tommy’s 
view of the situation, and regarded it as cer- 
tain that Attwood would adopt the unamiable 
role assigned to him and attempt to get the 
class to protest in a body. In this he would 
probably succeed, as not a few members, in- 
cluding Potter, were wont to have recourse to 
him for aid in their mathematical studies. It 
was therefore imperatively necessary to pre- 
vent the class being kept in during recess the 
following day. 

How was this to be effected? By the simple 
and ingenious means of greasing the Upper VI 
blackboard. 

If the Upper VI blackboard were greased, 
the Upper VI would naturally fall under sus- 
picion. 

Now it would be impossible for the Upper 
VI to be kept in during recess, because if they 
were there would be no one to keep order in 
the playground. Therefore they would be 
allowed out as usual. But if they were allowed 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 43 

out, the Third could not be kept in with any 
show of justice. 

Therefore the Third would be allowed out, 
too, and thus all fear of exposure would be 
averted, O. E. F. I have stated the plan in 
a rather more logical form than that in which 
Alexander unfolded it, but it is in substance 
what he said. It sounded so clever and plaus- 
ible (Alexander’s plans generally had at least 
that merit) that neither of his hsteners raised 
any question as to whether it would work or 
not; for one thing, they were both anxious to 
get home to dinner. So they proceeded at once 
to the practical question as to who should do 
the greasing. Following a long-established 
precedent, they tossed up for it, and the lot 
fell on Tommy, who looked very blue and 
asked, without enthusiasm, where he was to get 
the candle from. For answer Alexander looked 
cautiously round and put his hand on his right 
knee. He carefully unbuckled the strap which 
terminated his nether garments at that point 
and produced the necessary instrument. “Jolly 
good place to hide things,” he said. “No one 
ever thinks of looking there.” 

“When’m I to do it?” said Tommy rather 
sulkily, taking the candle end and stowing it 
away in his satchel. Alexander told him to do 


44 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

it at the end of afternoon school and to be sure 
that there was no one hanging about, and to 
give it a good grease all over. He said they 
might be perfectly easy in their minds, and 
that everything would be all right, and there 
would be no more bother. Tommy sighed, and 
said he must be getting home to dinner, and 
William said he must be, too, so the meeting 
forthwith broke up. I imagine Mr. Sadbrick 
smiling a sardonic smile at them as they de- 
parted. 

William and Aleck, as I think I mentioned, 
lived next door to each other, their families 
occupying Nos. 5 and 7 Roscommon Street. 
Wilham’s father was Captain May, of the 
R. M. S. Buluwayo, If you read the shipping 
news you will often see his name in the papers. 
William had a good many brothers and sisters, 
counting himself about half way down the list. 
One of his brothers had left school, but one 
(unfortunately) was still there, and in the 
Upper VI. I say unfortunately, because when 
William arrived late for dinner his unpunctu- 
ality was emphasized by the fact that his 
brother had arrived in time. Further, his 
brother (Matthew was his name) was, with 
singular want of tact, entertaining the family 
with an account of the greased blackboard epi- 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 45 

sode, the news of which had rapidly spread all 
over the school. He even went so far as to say 
that he shouldn’t be surprised if their Willy had 
had a hand in it, and Mrs. May, from the head 
of the table, said she hoped to goodness not, 
as they would have a nice sort of bill coming in 
if he had. So when William did at last arrive 
the welcome he received was a somewhat chilly 
one. He was sent out at once to wash his 
hands, and informed that he would only have 
one help of pudding. On returning he was 
taxed by the inconsiderate Matthew with hav- 
ing greased the board, and instead of telling 
him to mind his business, he turned red and 
said nothing at all, which of course rather let 
the cat out of the bag. Altogether it was a 
most unsatisfactory dinner, for apart from the 
fact that William only got one help of pudding, 
Susannah was sent away from the table for 
calling Matthew (in a loud stage whisper) a 
horrid sneak, and Mrs. May thought it prob- 
able that the Captain, on his return home, 
would entirely collapse beneath the weight of 
his children’s wickedness. Every one was re- 
lieved when at last James Arthur, the youngest 
but one, was called upon to say grace. 

But as will easily be seen, the situation had 
become sensibly modified, so far as William was 


46 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

concerned. For now, if the Upper VI black- 
board were greased, Matthew would certainly 
attribute it to him and think he was trying to 
wipe off old scores. Further, there was this 
new financial aspect of the question, which had 
not hitherto occurred to any of the parties con- 
cerned. It would certainly be awkward if a 
bill for two destroyed blackboards met Captain 
May on his return home. 

He unfolded these perplexities to Aleck 
after dinner on his way to school, but Aleck 
made very light of them. He said it was all 
nonsense to talk about the blackboards being 
destroyed, because every one knew you could 
get the grease off at any time with a blotting 
paper and a hot iron. He said if Mr. Colqu- 
houn had behaved decently instead of going up 
in the air he had meant to suggest it to him 
in the morning. As to the danger from 
Matthew, he made light of that, too. He said 
you could just tell Matthew to mind his own 
business, and he would like to see his elder 
brother (he hadn’t got one, by the way) trying 
to interfere with him. This last argument 
William did not find very satisfying. He said 
it was all very well for Aleck to talk, but if he 
had to sleep in the same room as Matthew he 
would probably think diflFerently, to which 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 47 

Aleck replied that if Matthew tried to lick him 
he could just begin to yell at the top of his 
voice and he’d see that he’d soon stop. William 
did not reply to this, seeing clearly that Alex- 
ander (who had only one sister and lived with 
his aunt) knew nothing of the ways of big fam- 
ilies. To behave in such a manner would ruin 
his reputation forever in the eyes of the kid, 
besides being altogether unsportsmanlike. But 
he promised reluctantly to say nothing of these 
difficulties to Tommy, whom they both knew it 
would be very easy to persuade to give up the 
whole business. 

Tommy, it should be said, had had no real 
opportunity of thinking the matter out. He, 
too, was late for dinner, later than any of them, 
but then in his home it did not matter much 
what time you turned up. He had no brothers 
or sisters at all, and his father had died when 
he was quite small, and his mother was an artist, 
quite a distinguished artist. You will see her 
name in the papers, too, although not quite so 
often as Captain May’s. Look down the list 
of pictures at any exhibition, and nine times 
out of ten you will see the name of Mrs. Clem- 
entina Browne among them. Tommy was very 
rightly proud of his mother’s skill and reputa- 
tion, though it was, indirectly, a cause of con- 


48 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

siderable suffering to him. For Mrs. Clemen- 
tina was constantly in want of a model, and he 
sometimes had to do his home work dressed up 
as a Spanish peasant hoy, sometimes even 
(though I hardly like to say it) as a Spanish 
peasant girl, or some other absurd and incon- 
gruous character. Though he always stipulated 
that the door should be locked on these occasions, 
and took care always to sit well out of sight of 
people passing in the street, he was continually 
haunted by the fear that some day some of the 
college boys would pass and see him. I fear 
Mrs. Clementina hardly realized what a call 
she was making upon Tommy’s devotedness or 
how his whole soul revolted at these dressing-up 
performances, though she had conceded the 
privilege of his wearing long trousers as a sort 
of set-off ; still, he did it, and did it on the whole 
without much grumbling, which shows, I think, 
that there was a lot more in Tommy than you 
might have supposed from the silly things he 
sometimes did. 

On this particular occasion, directly he got 
inside the house he heard his mother calling 
from the studio. “Is that my Tummus?” she 
called. “Come here, my blessing!” That was 
her way of talking, and if you had told Tommy 
it was queer he would not have liked it at alL 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 49 

He went at once, and submitted without a mur- 
mur to taking his dinner in a flaxen wig with 
a large hat perched on the top of it, serving 
thus the useful purpose of model for an illus- 
tration upon which his mother was engaged. 
Some people might have thought it funny to 
see him making the sign of the cross before he 
began, and trying to get the most out of a 
mutton chop without disturbing the balance of 
the wig, which, apart from the added weight 
of the hat, was rather too large, but I think 
myself it was rather flne. Mrs. Clementina 
kept on working the whole time, having a great 
belief in Plasmon biscuits, which can be con- 
sumed without all the cumbersome machinery 
of a dinner table. She kept on talking, too, 
telling Tommy how particularly beautiful and 
original this illustration was, and how the 
author ought to scream with joy when he saw 
how wonderfully his idea had been grasped, 
and so on. 

Tommy sat gravely through it all, munch- 
ing his mutton chop, because his mother did 
not expect any reply when she talked like that ; 
indeed, she often addressed questions to per- 
sons who were obviously not present at all, as 
when she exclaimed, as she often did on finish- 
ing a sketch, “And what does Sir Joshua think 


50 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

of thatj now?” But it must be admitted that 
he was considerably upset and looked very 
glum when his mother told him that she had 
that morning received a commission for a series 
of pictures illustrating the history of Little Bo 
Peep for a children’s book, and that she would 
want him to pose as model that evening. She 
noticed the look at once. “Oh, Tummus” (she 
generally called him Tummus), “how can 
you?” she exclaimed. “Think of the shekels, 
my angel babe, and do it for your poor Ma. 
Think of the baker, Tummus; think of the 
wicked price of coal, my blessing,” and so on. 
And Tommy had only looked a little sulky ( as 
who wouldn’t?) and said, “Bother!” 

But no one should be in a hurry to condemn 
this excellent lady, or to set her down as one 
wanting greatly in tact and consideration, for 
she was fighting a desperately hard and uphill 
battle. Tommy’s father, as I said, was dead, 
and left practically no money behind him. He 
had been killed in a motor smash soon after his 
marriage, so Mrs. Clementina’s pictures and 
illustrations had to pay for everything; for 
though Tommy had an uncle who was rather 
rich, she was too proud to take anything but 
advice from him. There were other circum- 
stances complicating her relations with this 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 51 

uncle, but as we shall meet him later on, we can 
put off describing them till then. Artists as a 
rule are very badly paid, and often enough 
Mrs. Clementina had a desperate struggle to 
make both ends meet. She did not tell Tommy 
much about it, but he partly guessed, and as a 
rule was very patient and helpful. But he 
could not help hating having to dress up in 
this absurd way, and you can understand that 
Little Bo Peep drove, for the time at least, the 
blackboard business quite out of his head. 

He remembered all about it when, on return- 
ing to school, he met Aleck and William, and 
as there was no way out of it, at the end of 
the afternoon he went and did it. It was quite 
easy, because the Upper VI were in the chem- 
ical laboratory at the time, and there was no 
one about. Their blackboard was a very mag- 
nificent one, but at the end of the operation it 
was quite useless for all practical purposes, for 
Tommy did his work thoroughly. Aleck and 
William waited for him at the corner of the 
street, and he returned the candle end and said 
it was all right and nobody had seen. 

Aleck did not look quite so cheerful as he 
ought to have done, considering that he had 
had his own way, and when William said, ‘Tf 
it doesn’t come off we’ll be in a worse hole than 


52 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

ever,” he turned nasty and told him to try and 
see if he couldn’t find something else beastly 
to say, and went off home by himself in a 
temper. Tommy and William, thus left alone, 
looked at each other uneasily. 

‘T don’t believe he thinks it’ll work now,” 
said William, with a sort of gulp, which took 
Tommy rather by surprise. “Beastly little 
fool, he’s always getting us into rows. I wish 
I’d never been a Black Brother. I wish I’d 
never seen the rotten old blackboard.” William 
was obviously very much upset. 

“What’s the row, Billy?” said Tommy 
kindly. “I thought you wanted to go on with 
it.” 

“Well, I didn’t, then,” said William; “I 
don’t want beastly bills coming in; and my 
father’s coming back next month ; and I shan’t 
be let go down to the docks to meet him.” 
William by this time was audibly sniffing. 

“I say,” said Tommy in alarm, “d’ you think 
they’ll send us in bills?” 

“Course they will, you silly idjut,” said 
William miserably, “and there’ll be two now 
instead of one, and my father’ll be in a most 
awful rage, and I won’t be let go down.” 
William’s woes became too great for utterance 
at this point. 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 53 


‘‘What’d a blackboard cost, about, d’ you 
think?” said Tommy seriously. 

“A jolly lot, I ’spect,” said William, who 
was evidently bent on taking a gloomy view of 
things. ‘T dessay two ’d be pretty nearly five 
pounds. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was 
more.” 

“It’s all right enough for Aleck to talk,” he 
went on ; “he’s only got his aunt, and she can’t 
say boo to a goose, my mother says she can’t. 
But it’s different for me, with my father cornin’ 
home and Mat knowin’ already.” 

“It’ll be pretty bad for me, too,” said 
Tommy dolefully. “Why on earth didn’t we 
think of it before?” 

"A dunno,” answered William ; “but it won’t 
be so bad for anybody as for me.” 

“It’s all that little Aleck’s fault,” he con- 
tinued bitterly, “and I’ll tell him, too, you see 
if I don’t.” 

At this point they reached the spot where 
their ways home separated, and William nodded 
and went off in the lowest of low spirits. With 
a heart only a degree or too less depressed 
Tommy also turned homeward. 

His evening troubles began directly he got 
in, and he took his tea as Little Bo Peep — an 
incongruous maiden with trouser ends sticking 


54 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

out from under her petticoats, but as to the 
upper part of her, appropriately clad in a 
Watteau shepherdess costume. It interfered 
a good deal with his home work, for who could 
do a French exercise with absurd ribbons 
sprawling about all over you, and an exacting 
mother demanding a change of attitude every 
few minutes. But this was not the worst of it 
by any means, and if Tommy’s face had been 
included in the drawing the result must have 
suggested a shepherdess suffering from acute 
neuralgia or some other severe affliction. This 
possibility of a bill being sent in weighed upon 
him terribly, for the soul-destroying effect of 
bills was a frequent subject of conversation 
with Mrs. Clementina, and he had come to re- 
gard people who send them in as among the 
wickedest of mankind. Besides, it would make 
her terribly angry, and though generally very 
easy going and good tempered, when really 
upset she could be simply terrible. The more 
he thought of it the more hopeless the situa- 
tion seemed, for he shared William’s sugges- 
tion as to the success of Alexander’s scheme. 
So, as I said, it was a very woe-begone and 
melancholy shepherdess that sat that evening 
on the model platform in the studio and tried 
to learn French verbs and lessons by heart. 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 55 

The suspense at last grew so unbearable that 
he began to think how he could get some infor- 
mation as to the real price of blackboards from 
his mother without letting out the whole secret, 
and he hit upon an ingenious plan. He began 
first by talking about the furniture in the 
studio in a casual way, tactfully leading up to 
the question of how much it cost. He then 
worked by natural stages to furniture at 
school, how much that cost. Mrs. Clementina 
answered rather at random. Some of her fig- 
ures would probably have startled an up- 
holsterer, but Tommy never doubted their sub- 
stantial accuracy. When he got to the school- 
room he naturally did not go straight to the 
blackboard, but began diplomatically with the 
benches. “How much would a bench cost, 
mummy?” he said, and Mrs. Clementina, with 
a pencil in her mouth, said without a moment’s 
hesitation that she expected a good bench, a 
really artistic bench, would cost about seven 
pounds. From benches he passed, after a 
pause, to wall maps, and then from wall maps 
to masters’ chairs, and from masters’ chairs, 
with a beating heart, at last to blackboards. 
Mrs. Clementina, who found the inventory a 
little fatiguing and wished to terminate it, said 
a blackboard would certainly make a hole in 


56 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 


a ten-pound note. At this awful announce- 
ment Tommy gasped and stopped his ques- 
tions so suddenly that the effect of all his subtle 
diplomacy was quite destroyed. His mother’s 
suspicions were aroused, and glancing across 
at Tommy, she saw a confirmation of them in 
the expression of alarm on his face. 

“Tummus,” she said, pointing severely at 
him, “you’re up to some mischief, that’s what 
you’re up to. Oh, don’t tell me, I can see 
through you like a book. I know what you’re 
going to do, you artful boy. You’re going to 
saw off the leg of a chair so that somebody 
will sit down on it and be upset.” Tommy 
shook his head, but his mother took no notice. 

“It’s all very well for you to shake your 
head, Tummus, but I know better. But now 
listen to me, my blessing,” she continued, lay- 
ing down her pencil and drawing board. “You 
mustn’t do anything of the sort, you just 
mustn’t. You don’t want to worry your poor 
old mummy, do you, Tummus? You wouldn’t 
like to bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the 
grave. Think of the rates and taxes, my 
cherub; think of the sinful people who buy 
pictures and things, and the wicked prices they 
give! I do assure you, Tummus, that if you 
bring me any bills for broken chairs and such 


A Meetmg of the Brotherhood 57 

like I shall simply collapse, my angel babe, and 
go and sit in the coal cellar and howl.” With 
which fearful threat she took up her pencil 
again and went to work. 

Tommy kept his face turned away during 
the course of this remarkable harangue, which 
explains why Mrs. Clementina did not notice 
two tears that trickled down slowly and found 
a resting place on one of the unnecessary rib- 
bons which decorated the person of Little Bo 
Peep. There was a longish pause in the con- 
versation. ‘Tf you’re going to be a Bluggins, 
Tummus,” said Mrs. Clementina at last, ‘‘y^^ 
can take off that pretty dress and go to bed.” 

“I’m not,” said Tommy indignantly. Blug- 
gins was Mrs. Clementina’s name for a certain 
celebrated painter (it would never do for me 
to tell you which one precisely, because of the 
law of libel) , for whose works she had a deeply 
rooted antipathy, and from his earliest years 
Tommy had been accustomed to associate all 
that was morally and physically reprehensible 
with the name. 

“Well, don’t look like one, then,” said his 
mother. “Look joyous, my precious blessing. 
You can do heaps and heaps of other things, 
even if you won’t saw off legs of chairs. Can’t 
you put rats in the other boys’ desks, and trip 


58 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

people up with a string, and all that sort of 
thing? Anything that won’t cost money, 
Tummus, but I really can not stand any more 
bills. Now you’re looking it more than ever, 
my cherub. What is the use of my talking?” 

“I can’t remember these beastly verbs,” said 
Tommy, which was perfectly true. For half 
an hour at least he had in the intervals of con- 
versation been painfully trying to master the 
eccentricities of the foolish French verb aller^ 
which, as some of us know to our cost, waltzes 
light heartedly off into a different shape at 
almost every turn. 

“Well, come here and I’ll help you, Tum- 
mus,” said Mrs. Clementina. 

“Can’t I take off these beastly things?” said 
Tommy. He wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t 
been so upset. 

“Yes, Tummus,” said his mother, “take them 
off. Jump on them, by all means, and tear 
them up to make Guy Fauxes and cricket balls 
out of them. Don’t mind me in the least. 1 
like it, Tummus/' 

Tommy got down from his throne on the 
model platform and came over to where his 
mother was sitting and put his arm round her 
neck. 

“Sorry, mummy,” he said. 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 59 

She gave him a vigorous hug. ‘‘You will be 
a good boy and help your poor ma, won’t you, 
Tummus?” she said, wiping her eyes, and 
Tommy gave a rather inarticulate promise. 

“And you won’t bring home any horrid bills, 
will you, my blessing?” she said, and Tommy, 
after a moment’s hesitation, promised not to. 
How he was suddenly able to do so I shall ex- 
plain presently. Then they went to work to- 
gether at the French verbs, and having to some 
extent at last overcome them, they had supper 
together, and Tommy went to bed. 

I feel I have given Tommy away rather 
badly, for no one would like it to be known 
that he had to dress up in girl’s clothes and be 
called an angel babe. Still, you will never 
know who Tommy really was, because, dear sir 
or madam, he lives in a city you are never likely 
to visit, and so I am going to make a still more 
intimate revelation. Tommy had once been 
to a school sodality meeting at which an ad- 
dress of a rather unusual type had been given, 
for the priest who gave it, among other things, 
said that whenever he was really in a fix he 
always went to Our Lady to get him out of it, 
and she always did. He gave one or two ex- 
amples of a very striking nature to illustrate 
the fact. Tommy had been much impressed 


60 A Meeting of the Brotherhood 

by the lesson and its possibilities of practical 
application, and he proceeded to act upon it 
with quite striking results. Our Lady, among 
other things, now, to his own and several other 
people’s surprise, got him through the Oxford 
Locals. It is true it was only a pass, and not 
even third class honors, but still he was 
through, and felt properly grateful. He nat- 
urally did not talk about it, but after those re- 
sults he felt quite sure that you could always 
rely on Our Lady if you did not ask for un- 
reasonable things. 

This saving truth had suddenly flashed 
across his mind when his mother asked the awk- 
ward question about the bill. It was certainly 
an ugly hole, but it seemed just the sort Our 
Lady would help you out of, so he boldly made 
the plunge and staked everything on this 
means of escape. He explained all this when 
he said his prayers that night, and though he 
did not, of course, insist upon any precise plan, 
he rather suggested that perhaps the best way 
would be for it never to be found out, and he 
would gradually save up and pay back the 
price secretly. Then, by way of acting up to 
his promise to be a help and not incur unneces- 
sary expense, he carefully folded up his trous- 
ers and put them under the mattress to press 


A Meeting of the Brotherhood 61 

out the creases, and after that he went to bed 
with a fairly easy mind. 

When presently his mother came into take 
away the candle, she brought with her a large 
crystallized plum. “Open your mouth and 
shut your eyes and see what’ll happen, Tum- 
mus,” she said, and I need make no mystery 
about what did happen. But if you are a very 
clever and clear-sighted person you will see 
that, although she was very fond of Thomas, 
she did not altogether understand him. 


CHAPTER IV 


A FREE RIDE 

T ONCE knew a boy who played, or rather in- 
tended to play, a rather complicated prac- 
tical joke upon some other boys. The essence 
of the joke was that at a given point he should 
pour upon a piece of blotting-paper what 
seemed to be water, but was in reality a chem- 
ical compound giving off a most hideous and 
overwhelming smell. Unfortunately (through 
some flaw in the mixing, I imagine) , the chem- 
ical compound behaved exactly as though it 
had been really only ordinary water, and gave 
no smell at all, which made him look as foolish 
as people generally do under such circum- 
stances. 

Now, the three Black Brothers were very 
much in this position the morning after the 
events we have just narrated. The Upper 
Sixth blackboard had been properly greased, 
and by rights the whole school should have been 
in a commotion. As a matter of fact, abso- 
lutely nothing happened. 

They had come to school, all three of them, 
in a rather uneasy frame of mind, and with 
62 


A Free Ride 


63 


tempers a little uncertain. William was the 
worst, for he had kept to his intention of telling 
Aleck what he thought of him, with the result 
that for the moment they were not on speaking 
terms. William had had a very bad night, 
for after they had retired to rest Matthew 
had entertained him with various highly col- 
ored descriptions of what he might expect 
to happen when the Captain came home. 
When (very imprudently, it seems to me) 
he had sought to discover Matthew’s views 
as to the price of blackboards, he found 
them to be on a scale of more Oriental mag- 
nificence than were even those of Mrs. Clemen- 
tina. 

The crisis, of course, arrived when, at the 
end of the mathematical class, Mr. Colquhoun 
asked whether the boys who had perpetrated 
the outrage of the day before had thought 
better of it and were prepared to give them- 
selves up to justice. A chilling silence alone 
answered this inquiry, and Mr. Colquhoun 
snorted with indignation. 

“Very well,” he said. ''FeryweW. The class 
will stay in as before during the recess, and will 
continue to do so until the offenders are dis- 
covered. 

“Please, sir,” said Potter, standing up, “may 


64 A Free Ride 

we go out if we say we haven’t had anything to 
do with it?” 

“No, Potter,” said Mr. Colquhoun, “no, you 
may not. The class, by its behavior yesterday, 
has made itself collectively responsible, and 
will accordingly be kept in until the offenders 
are brought to justice.” 

“Please, sir,” Potter was beginning, when 
Mr. Colquhoun interrupted him. 

“Sit down. Potter, and go on with your 
work,” he said. “I don’t want to hear any 
more on the subject.” 

Potter cast an indignant glance in the di- 
rection of Alexander and sat down. Fortu- 
nately the places of the Black Brothers were 
at the other end of the room, and well out of 
reach of Potter’s boot, but all the same they 
felt very uncomfortable. For apart from the 
fact that Potter was very big, and that, as soon 
as Mr. Colquhoun had left the room, he inti- 
mated in a loud whisper that when he got 
Alexander outside he meant to skin him alive, 
they couldn’t help feeling that it was a little 
mean to let the whole class be punished in this 
way. To make matters worse, Mr. Colqu- 
houn, in one of his visits of inspection, caught 
Attwood in the act of talking and sent him 
downstairs to receive what in France I find 


A Free Bide 


65 


they delicately call “a correction.” Attwood, 
not being accustomed to such visitations, came 
back showing visible signs of distress, and 
though the Black Brothers, who sat near him, 
kept their faces buried in their books, every 
one of his distressful sniffs went through them 
like a red-hot dart. I don’t say it by way of 
excusing them, but they certainly felt most 
horribly mean. 

Still, self-preservation is the first law of 
nature, and at the end of the next hour (the 
last of the morning) all was forgotten in their 
anxiety to escape the vengeance of Potter. 
This was not so difficult as might at first sight 
appear, because the galleries and staircase at 
this hour were patrolled by members of the 
Sixth, who suppressed all riotous tendencies 
with a strong hand (or foot). But putting 
away their books very slowly, and taking the 
opportunity of straightening up their desks, 
they succeeded in getting the room cleared be- 
fore they ventured out. With the majority 
of the class the desire to get home to dinner 
again swayed the desire to investigate the ques- 
tion of Alexander’s guilt. 

Now, it so happened that the Sixth Form 
boy on duty in the gallery outside their class 
room was no other than William’s tactless 


66 


A Free Ride 


brother Matthew, and as the trio emerged, 
looking furtively round for possible Potter 
ambushes, they almost walked into his arms. 
Matthew eyed them sternly, and called to his 
young brother to stop. “Here, kid,” he said, 
and William obediently came. The other two 
went on, not being to the same extent under 
the domination of Matthew. 

“You’ve let those chaps be kept in again, 
Billy,” he said severely. William made a re- 
ply, the only audible words in which were, 
“ ’n business.” 

“It is my business,” said Matthew magis- 
terially. “I’ve got to see that you don’t be- 
have like a dirty little bounder, Billy! When 
are you going to own up?” William, for an- 
swer, tried to bolt, and was promptly collared 
and treated to a mild (quite mild) kick. “You 
can’t get away from me, Billy, so don’t try,” 
said Matthew. “Now, just you listen. If 
you don’t own up this afternoon. I’ll lick 
you to-night, and go on every night till 
you do. See? With the strap off the gov- 
ernor’s biggest portmanteau. Now you can 
cut off.” 

William did cut off, but in scarcely a cheer- 
ful frame of mind, for he knew Matthew, and 
he knew that particular strap. He found the 


A Free Ride 


67 


other two in the hall earnestly gazing at the 
notice board. There was nothing on it of ex- 
ceptional interest, but you were liable to be 
moved on if you hung about in the hall without 
any particular reason, for the hall was 
patrolled by a greater Authority even than a 
member of the Sixth. 

“Potter’s waiting at the corner of Smith 
Street with about half the class,” said Aleck, 
as he came up to them; “we’re trying to tire’m 
out.” 

^^He^s looked at us twice/^ said Tommy, in 
an awestruck voice, meaning not Potter, but 
the Authority already referred to. 

“Well, copy something off the board, then,” 
said Aleck, who was never at a loss for an ex- 
pedient, and he proceeded to fumble in his 
pocket for a piece of pencil. The situation was 
a critical one, for the numbers in the hall were 
lessening every moment, and it looked as 
though they would soon be left alone there with 
the Authority, and if they were asked ques- 
tions they could give no reasonable explana- 
tion as to why the notice board possessed so 
extraordinary a fascination for them or why 
they were all three carefully writing down the 
statement, “Library subscriptions are now due 
and should be paid at once to Fr. Genicot.” 


68 


A Free Ride 


From what was thus rapidly becoming an 
impossible situation they were rescued by the 
master who has more than once in this narra- 
tive played the amiable part of guardian angel. 
Mr. Tanqueray, whose lot seemed in some 
mysterious way to be bound up with that of 
the Black Brethren, at this juncture suddenly 
hove in sight. He was wearing a hat and 
carrying a bag, and evidently making for home 
and lunch. 

It was Aleck, as usual^ who first grasped the 
possibilities of the situation. Hastily stowing 
away his pencil and paper, he marched straight 
up to Mr. Tanqueray, and politely raising his 
cap, said: “Please, sir, did you find your spec- 
tacles all right?” 

Mr. Tanqueray looked a little surprised, for 
the episode of the spectacles had quite escaped 
his memory. “Oh, yes, thank you, Comoran,” 
he said. “I expect I did. I generally do, 
sooner or later, you know. Very tiresome, 
isn’t it, to have to wear such things?” 

“Yes, sir, it must be,” said Comoran sym- 
pathetically. 

William, who had grasped his leader’s 
strategy, ran to the door and politely held it 
open. Mr. Tanqueray was a little puzzled at 
these unusual marks of devotion, but thought 


A Free Ride 69 

no evil, being, as I said, of an unsuspicious 
turn of mind. 

Once out in the street Aleck took up his 
position on one side and Tommy on the other. 
William, whose services as a door opener had 
placed him at a disadvantage, was in the place 
of danger on the outside. Mr. Tanqueray was 
so short-sighted that one of his escort might 
well have been cut off in passing through the 
Potter country and he not notice it. How- 
ever, he managed to secure Mr. Tanqueray’s 
bag, and so made himself reasonably safe. 

There was nothing in the street to suggest 
the presence of a bloodthirsty enemy, for the 
simple reason that Potter and his men were 
lying in ambush round the corner. Accord- 
ing to their plan, Aleck was to have walked 
into their arms, to have been seized and 
dragged down Back Seymour Street (a con- 
veniently quiet thoroughfare) and spanked 
until he promised to own up. Potter having 
thoughtfully brought with him an efficient 
spanking instrument Their fatal mistake had 
been that by looking too unguardedly round 
the corner they had let the Black Brothers into 
the secret, and prepared the way for their own 
discomfiture. ' - 

Nevertheless, as they approached the corner. 


70 


A Free Ride 


the hearts of the Brethren began to beat rather 
fast. They had up to this point managed to 
keep the conversation going on the subject of 
spectacles. Alexander volunteered the infor- 
mation that his aunt wore spectacles, and 
Thomas had supplemented it by the statement 
that his mother didn’t, and hoped she never 
would. William’s contribution had been the 
expression of an opinion that to be a sailor you 
had to have good eyesight. Mr. Tanqueray 
had smiled amiably several times, but said 
nothing of moment, and as they approached 
the corner conversation died away, for the 
simple reason that no one could think of any- 
thing else to say. 

As they swept majestically round it William 
suddenly held out Mr. Tanqueray’s bag be- 
fore him as a sort of talisman, and Aleck said 
in an audible voice, “It’s a very fine day, sir, 
isn’t it?” Their triumph was complete. In- 
stead of the contemplated furious onslaught, 
the waiting enemy recoiled before them and 
stood in two disorganized rows sheepishly rais- 
ing their caps. Mr. Tanqueray acknowledged 
the salute, and Alexander, dropping a very 
little way behind, did so, too. Perhaps it would 
have been wiser not to, but, as I said before, 
Aleck generally lost his head a little in mo- 


A Free Ride 


71 


merits of exceptional prosperity. The indig- 
nation of the enemy was deep, but unexpressed. 

“Those were some of our boys, were they 
not?” said Mr. Tanqueray as they passed out 
of the zone of danger; “they ought to have 
gone home before this.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Alexander mildly. “I 
expect they’ll be late for dinner if they don’t 
hurry up.” He glanced furtively over his 
shoulder, and saw to his alarm that Potter was 
following. He caught Potter’s eye, and Potter 
showed him the instrument with a menacing 
gesture. 

“I’m afraid I, too, must hurry up,” said 
Mr. Tanqueray, glancing at his watch. “In 
fact, I think I’ll take this tram. I’d no idea 
it was so late.” A tram had just appeared at 
the end of the street, and Mr. Tanqueray 
halted to wait for it. Potter halted, too, at a 
safe distance. 

Now, the proper thing for the Black Broth- 
ers to have done at this point was just simply 
to have bolted. They should have said good- 
by to the escort which had stood them in such 
good stead and made a run for it; they had 
start enough to be fairly sure of getting clear. 
But instead of that they waited meekly for 
the tram to arrive, and while they did so three 


72 


A Free Ride 


of the pursuing party crossed over the street 
and took up their position lower down, so as to 
cut off their retreat. They only noticed this 
just as the tram came up. 

Mr. Tanqueray took his bag from William 
and stepped lightly on board. Then, perhaps 
touched by the unwonted attentions of which 
he had been made the object, he turned round 
and addressed them. 

“This tram any good to you, boys?” he 
asked; “I’ll stand you a pennyworth if you 
like.” 

“Thanks awfully, sir,” said all three in one 
breath, and clambered after him. A moment 
later they shot past the baffled enemy, who had 
to stand feebly by and see them vanish. It 
was another ecstatic moment, but Aleck did 
not, as his first impulse prompted him to do, 
wave his hand at Potter, because he suddenly 
realized that though the immediate danger had 
been escaped, another difficulty had presented 
itself. 

For the tram, with all three of them, was 
proceeding at the lightning speed at which 
electric trams do travel in precisely the wrong 
direction. They were being carried away from 
dinner, with all its solemn obligations, and 
there was no escape. Tommy and William, 


A Free Ride 


73 


who were sitting together behind Mr. Tan- 
queray and Aleck, debated the situation in 
whispers, and William remembered with un- 
easiness his shortcomings of the day before. 
Still, they had to let Mr. Tanqueray have his 
money’s worth, and so they had to sit still and 
watch the streets pass by, the streets which 
they would soon have painfully to retraverse. 
Alexander, in front of them, had returned 
to the subject of spectacles, and was asking 
a number of more or less intelligent ques- 
tions. 

To their relief Mr. Tanqueray got off be- 
fore the whole pennyworth was up. “You can 
go on for quite a long way yet,” he said cheer- 
fully, as he wished them good-by, “as far as 
the Carnegie Library, if you like.” They 
thanked him with as much enthusiasm as they 
could muster, and, directly he had disappeared 
from sight, descended hastily and dropped off 
the tram. It might have been worse, but con- 
sidering that they had started late, it was 
pretty bad. William was the one principally 
concerned, and it was mostly for William’s 
sake that the other two were unhappy. Alex- 
ander could always manage his aunt, and he 
had an angelic sister who kept things warm 
for him, however late he arrived. Tommy’s 


74 


A Free Ride 


mother seldom even noticed unpunctuality, 
however exaggerated. But in the May house- 
hold Spartan discipline ruled, and loitering on 
the way home from school was a crime to which 
tradition had affixed a very definite penalty. 
This fact was well known, and Alexander gen- 
erously offered to stand William a tram 
back. 

“It’s no good,” said William dolefully; 
“they only go every quarter of an hour. I’ll 
just have to sprint.” The other two ran with 
him, but in spite of their utmost efforts William 
only arrived, scarlet in the face and perspiring 
from every pore, as the last relics of what had 
once been a lordly milk rice pudding were dis- 
appearing. Alexander had nothing worse to 
face than a mild remonstrance. “Really, Alex- 
ander, I think it’s very inconsiderate of you not 
to try at least to get home before we’ve quite 
finished dinner,” said his aunt, glancing at him 
over her spectacles with mild disapproval. 
Mrs. Clementina, who, as usual, was hard at 
work in the studio with a plate of Plasmon bis- 
cuits beside her, said nothing more biting than, 
“Tummus, my angel, aren’t you just a teeny- 
weeny bit late to-day ?” But William met with 
a very different fate. Before the whole table 
he was given a severe lecture on the evils of 


A Free Ride 


75 


unpunctuality, was reminded that the same 
thing had happened only yesterday, and was 
informed that he would be given a letter to 
take to Fr. Genicot when he went back to 
school. The younger members of the family 
stared at him with awe-struck eyes, as at one 
who bore the seal of doom. The sinister mean- 
ing of “a letter” was well understood. The 
elder ones (all girls except Matthew) con- 
versed in undertones upon indifferent topics, 
and seemed entirely callous. Only Susannah 
was sympathetic, and furtively passed her 
pocket-handkerchief to William under the 
table, seeing with feminine acuteness that his 
own, from much mopping, was in a state to 
call forth further unfavorable comment. 
William made no attempt at a defense, being at 
once winded and anxious to make the most of 
the small possibilities of dinner which remained. 
But after dinner the letter was duly written 
and delivered to the offender, who received it in 
sulky silence. “And don’t you let me find 
you’ve forgotten to give it, or any nonsense of 
that sort, young man,” said his mother, shaking 
a warning finger. 

Outside in the passage, as he came out, 
Susannah was waiting for him. “There’s about 
half a tube full of shaving salve in father’s 


76 


A Free Ride 


dressing-room,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll bag 
it for you, if you like, Billy dear. Mat always 
used to when he was in your class when he got 
a letter. He used to say it stopped the hurting 
straight off. Conny told me he did. No- 
body’ll notice it’s gone, and if they do, it won’t 
be you.” Susannah spoke hurriedly, and if 
you find some of her expressions are not quite 
ladylike, you must remember she had a good 
many brothers. The hurry was due to the fact 
that the convent school attended by the girls 
of the May household was farther away than 
the college, and so they had to start earlier. 
Even as she spoke the voice of an elder sister 
could he heard expostulating from the hall. 

Susannah it said, you coming or are 
you not. I shan’t wait another moment.” 

William did not meet the offered service with 
the gratitude it deserved. “D’you think I care 
about cracks,” he said scornfully. “Give it to 
Mat and tell him he’s a silly funk. You’d 
better cut off or you'll get something for being 
late. Don’t be a little silly, Susy,” he said more 
kindly, seeing an ominous quiver about his 
sister’s lips. “There’s nothing to make a fuss 
about. I’ve had ’em hundreds of times before 
without turning a hair.” Susannah did not 
answer, but gave him a sudden hug and dis- 


A Free Ride 


77 


appeared downstairs. A moment later the 
front door banged and the female detachment 
had departed. William felt he had vindicated 
the dignity of his sex, and was rather pleased 
with himself on the whole. 

He had to suffer the humiliation of being 
handed over to Matthew to see that he did not 
loiter on the way back to school, but this was 
not altogether a misfortune, as with Matthew 
he was at least safe from Potter outrages. 
Though Alexander was the one chiefly sought 
by the Potter gang, the three Black Brothers 
were so generally known to be universal part- 
ners that it was quite possible that their ven- 
geance would fall upon any one of them if 
they caught him alone. With Matthew he was 
safe, for though Matthew might lick you on 
occasion himself, he would not let any one else 
do it. Still, it was an unpleasant experience, 
for Matthew met a Sixth Form friend on the 
way, and made William walk a yard or two in 
advance, so that their conversation might not 
be interrupted by the presence of a juvenile 
listener. ‘T have to see this kid doesn’t act 
like a fool,” he said by way of explanation to 
his friend, and without any intention of in- 
dulging in a jeu d'esprU, This was doubly an- 
noying, for William had intended to address 


78 


A Free Ride 


some diplomatic questions to Matthew with a 
view to finding out whether he had heard of 
the greasing of the Upper Sixth blackboard, 
and what the explanation of the total and un- 
mitigated failure of Aleck’s plan had been. 


CHAPTER V 


ALEXANDER AT BAY 

T he conscientious Matthew saw his charge 
to the door of Fr. Genicot’s office, and 
William duly delivered the letter and was told 
to come back at half -past four, which was no 
more than he expected. He waited a little 
while in the hall in hopes of seeing Tommy and 
Aleck before school, for, as the careful reader 
of this narrative will have noticed, the Black 
Brothers had been unable to hold a proper 
meeting since the reunion at the foot of Mr. 
Sadbrick’s statue. Things had been going 
steadily from bad to worse since then, and some 
new plan of action was urgently needed. He 
waited as long as it was safe to do so, but in 
yain, for Tommy and Aleck had taken the pre- 
caution of coming a little late with a view to 
avoiding being waylaid by the now infuriated 
enemy. 

The class that afternoon was taken by an 
extremely alert and sharp-sighted master, so 
that, although the three Black Brothers sat 
together, they found it inexpedient to attempt 
to hold any sort of communication. Alex- 
79 


80 


Alexander at Bay 


ander spent most of the time in thinking how 
to escape Potter after school, and came to the 
conclusion that the only possible course was 
to make a run for it, and if possible get on a 
tram again. You could not be sure of getting 
a master to act as convoy a second time, and 
Potter was so obviously bent upon vengeance 
that it would be hopeless to try to tire him out 
by waiting. As he (Alexander) was the one 
principally sought, he determined for once to 
leave the two others to shift for themselves; 
so when, toward the end of the last hour, 
William took advantage of the master’s back 
being turned to whisper hurriedly, ‘'What 
you going t’ do?” he whispered back the single 
word “scoot,” and when the end came, he 
scooted, leaving books and everything behind 
him. This gave him a slight start, and fortune 
again favored him in that Potter was called up 
and kept talking to the master for about a 
minute. Yet, in spite of his having strained 
his scooting powers to the utmost, he had not 
got to the corner of Smith Street before they 
were on his track and catching him up hand 
over hand. Potter was leading, for, as I said, 
he was bigger than the rest, and had corre- 
spondingly longer legs, but close behind him 
was Attwood, and behind them again Jeffer- 


Alexander at Bay 


81 


son, Riley, and Smart. At the sight of them 
Aleck spurted for all he was worth, and tore 
round into Smith Street at a breakneck pace, 
wildly hoping that a tram would be going up 
or down. But trams, as every one knows, 
never are going up or down when you want 
them to be, though they mock you by their 
frequency when you don’t, and so naturally 
Smith Street showed not a sign of one. There 
was still hope, however, for if he could manage 
to keep his lead, sooner or later one must cer- 
tainly come along, when suddenly from Great 
Seymour Street in front of him emerged 
McClane, who was only a size smaller than 
Potter, and equally bent on vengeance. Alex- 
ander had quite forgotten that there was a way 
into it from the college, and that his retreat 
could in this way be cut off. He paused fof 
a moment at the sight, saw that it was im- 
possible to get past McClane, and then delib- 
erately bolted across the street and into the 
first shop he came to. 

If he had had time to make a selection it was 
certainly not the one he would have chosen. 
He had not had the opportunity of looking at 
the outside, but the inside revealed the fact that 
it was an establishment devoted to the sale of 
ladies’ hats. Whichever way you looked you 


82 


Alexander at Bay 

saw nothing but hats, some of them on the tops 
of brass rods, some in glass cases, but every- 
where hats, not a thing which you could ask 
for a pennyworth of anywhere. Already it 
was too late to draw back, for outside, gazing 
earnestly into the window (which also con- 
tained hats) he saw his enemies assembled in 
force. They thought that at last they had run 
their quarry to earth. 

It was a very awkward situation for Alex- 
ander, as every one will admit. He had only 
sixpence with him, and part of that would be 
wanted for the tram, supposing he were lucky 
enough to get it. Fortunately, he had a min- 
ute or two’s respite, for the shop was empty 
when he entered it, and it was only after an 
interval that a most elegant young lady ap- 
peared, asking politely what she could do for 
him. In that interval Aleck had had a brilliant 
idea. He remembered having read of a man 
who went into an ironmonger’s shop, and by 
way of a joke asked for a pound of tea, pre- 
tending to be deaf, so that they couldn’t make 
him understand that they didn’t keep it. Why 
should not he do the same? He could go on 
pretending to be deaf until he saw a tram pass, 
and then make a desperate rush and perhaps 
get on board. However, when the young lady 


83 


Alexander at Bay 

arrived he found that it was one of those plans 
which look all right until you come to try them. 
He forgot to take into account the fact that 
the man in question had been a celebrated comic 
actor (I fancy it was the late Mr. Toole), and 
that even Mr. Toole could probably hardly 
have managed it if he had been winded by a 
long run. So when the young lady, with an 
engaging smile, said, “What can I do for you?” 
he said nothing, but pulled out his handker- 
chief and mopped his face with it. 

“You seem rather hot,” said the young lady. 
“Have you been running?” 

“Yes, miss,” answered Aleck; “I’m a bit 
puffed,” he added, still mopping his face. 

“So it seems,” said the young lady. “You 
must have been in a great hurry.” 

“I was,” said Aleck truthfully, with a fur- 
tive glance at the window. They were still 
there. There was a pause. 

“Won’t you sit down?” said the young lady 
politely, and Aleck thanked her and took a 
seat. It was so high that his feet didn’t touch 
the ground, and this made him feel uncomfort- 
able. The only idea which occurred to him at 
the moment was to ask for a pennyworth of 
ribbon, but apart from the fact that he wasn’t 
sure whether ribbon was sold in pennyworths, 


84 


Alexander at Bay 


he felt intuitively that the request would not 
be welcomed. So he just sat still and said noth- 
ing, which under the circumstances was much 
the wisest thing he could have done. 

There was another longish pause. The 
young lady went to one of the many hats and 
patted it coquettishly. She twisted the label, 
which bore the legend, “Epingle Bonnet, sale 
price 39/6,” a fraction of an inch to one side, 
as though she wished to call Alexander’s 
attention to it. “Perhaps they sent you out 
to buy something,” she suggested at last. 

Alexander again made no answer, and 
looked feverishly outside for a tram. 

“A piece of elastic, perhaps,” she continued 
cheerfully, “or was it a hat pin?” 

“No, not exactly,” said Aleck, wondering 
what a hat pin would come to. It sounded in- 
expensive, but you never know, and he did not 
like to risk it. 

“Well, what was it, my dear?” she said, with 
a touch of impatience. “You didn’t run all 
this way for nothing, surely?” 

“No, miss,” said Alexander, with perfect 
truth. 

“Can’t you remember what it was?” she said 
sympathetically. “Come, now, think — some 
tulle or chiffon, or a veil, or some ospreys?” 


85 


Alexander at Bay 

Was it genius in Aleck or something in the 
tone of her voice that told him he had to deal 
with a romantic soul? I don’t feel competent 
to decide, but certain it is that he slipped down 
from his seat, and going up to his questioner 
(Miss Rose Gibbons was her name; we shall 
not meet her again, so I may as well say that 
she was a romantic soul), he whispered con- 
fidentially, “Those chaps are after me,” and 
pointed to the window. 

Miss Gibbons glanced in the direction indi- 
cated, and saw appearing above the summit of 
a smart lace Tegal hat trimmed with a straw 
bow of contrasting colors, 48/9 (I quote from 
the ticket), the face of the infuriated Potter. 
Then she looked at Alexander, who, as I said 
in the beginning, had a pale face and yellowish 
curly hair, and was on the whole not a bad 
looking boy. The contrast at once appealed 
to her sympathetic soul. “What, all those 
great big fellows!” she said. “What a shamer 

Alexander mournfully nodded his head. 
“They’re much bigger’n me,” he said pathet- 
ically. 

“Ugh, the brutes!” said Miss Gibbons in- 
dignantly. “The great hulking cowards! I’ll 
soon send them about their business, and she 
went to a speaking tube and called through it. 


86 Alexander at Bay 

“Tom/’ she said, “I want you up here for a 
minute.” 

“If I could get on to a tram I should be all 
right, miss,” said Alexander, delighted at the 
turn things were taking. 

Miss Gibbons made no reply, but going to 
the window, shook her head ferociously. What 
response was made to the menacing gesture I 
can not precisely say, but it added to the lady’s 
indignation. “Impudence!” she exclaimed 
wrathfully. “I’ll teach them.” 

At this moment a youth in shirt-sleeves ap- 
peared at the door at the back of the shop. 

“Tom,” said Miss Gibbons with great dig- 
nity, “go and fetch a constable.” 

“A what, miss?” said Tom, who did not 
strike one as being a very intellectual type. 
Alexander’s eyes opened with astonishment. 
This was more than he had bargained for, a 
good deal. 

“A policeman, Tom,” said Miss Gibbons; 
“an officer. There is generally one standing at 
the corner of the street. Ask him to be quick.” 

“Yes, miss,” said Tom, eyeing Aleck with a 
grin and evidently under the impression that 
he was to be taken up for shop-lifting. He 
shuffied off on his errand, and once more Alex- 
ander and the lady were left alone. 


Alexander at Bay 87 

“What are you goin’ to do?’’ said Aleck in 
an awestruck voice. 

“Never you mind, my dear,” answered Miss 
Gibbons. “You leave it all to me. I’ll teach 
them, the impudent little wretches. What’s 
your name, my love?” she asked, after a pause. 

“Alexander Comoran,” said Aleck sulkily. 
He naturally didn’t like being talked to as 
though he were an infant in arms, and put as 
much resentment into his tone as he dared. 

“Alexander!” cried Miss Gibbons enthusi- 
astically. “What a pretty name! I suppose 
they call you Aleck, now?” 

“They do,” said Alexander shortly, hoping 
fervently that the policeman wouldn’t be very 
long. 

“Do you know, Aleck,” said Miss Gibbons, 
with sweet confidence, “I’ve got a cousin named 
Alexander. Just the same name as you — 
Alexander. Isn’t that funny?” 

It did not seem funny in the least to Aleck, 
so he made no answer. 

“He’s not a little boy like you,” continued 
Miss Gibbons, piling insult on insult; “he’s a 
great big man, ever so big. What are you 
going to be when you’re a big, big man?” 

“Dunno,” said Aleck. It was getting be- 
yond endurance and he had wild thoughts of 


88 


Alexander at Bay 


flight. The worst that Potter could do wouldn’t 
be more appalling than this. 

“The same as daddy, perhaps,” continued 
Miss Gibbons with growing tenderness, and 
quite oblivious to the fact that every word was 
a dagger plunged into her victim’s writhing 
soul. “Or a jolly Jack Tar and sail the briny 
sea, or a brave, brave soldier man, I shouldn’t 
wonder.” At this point the policeman merci- 
fully arrived, escorted by Tom. He entered 
and saluted Miss Gibbons respectfully. 

“Officer,” said that lady with great dignity, 
“would you be so kind as to step to the win- 
dow?” 

The officer stepped to the window, and one 
of the waiting enemies blew him an affectionate 
kiss over the bank of hats between them. The 
officer frowned. 

“Those boys,” said Miss Gibbons, “have been 
standing out there for the last half hour be- 
having in the most odious manner, con- 
stable.” 

“I’ll move ’em hon,” said the officer lacon- 
ically. 

“It’s a pity, I think,” continued the lady 
with rising indignation, “that respectably 
dressed boys shouldn’t know how to behave 
themselves better. I should just like their 


Alexander at Bay 89 

mothers to know how they’ve been carrying on, 
that’s all.” 

“I’ll move ’em hon,” said the officer, “at 
wunst.” 

'‘Ragged boys I can understand,” continued 
Miss Gibbons with asperity; “they want a 
good sound thrashing, every one of them, and 
if I were their master they’d get it, too. Im- 
pudent little wretches!” 

“I’ll move ’em hon,” repeated the officer, 
“immediate.” 

“Do, officer,” said Miss Gibbons, “and give 
them a warning not to come annoying respect- 
able people another time.” 

The officer stepped to the door, but the 
crowd had anticipated his desire, and had 
already moved on of their own accord. To 
meet a policeman on equal terms it is necessary, 
as is well known, to be wearing a top hat. Fail- 
ing this, it is always wiser to retire when re- 
quested. 

“I’ve moved ’em hon, miss,” said the officer, 
re-entering the shop, “and I’ll keep a heye on 
em. 

“Thank you, officer,” said Miss Gibbons. 
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to see this 
little boy safely on to a tram. The young 
ruffians have been molesting him, too.” 


90 


Alexander at Bay 

“I will, miss,” he said; “I wish you a good 
afternoon, miss. Come along with me. 
Tommy.” 

Alexander rose with alacrity, greatly re- 
lieved in mind on several points^ He had been 
half afraid at first that Miss Gibbons was going 
to give them all in charge, which would have 
led to complications. As it was, things could 
not have turned out better. 

“Oh, Aleck,” said Miss Gibbons reproach- 
fully, “you don’t mean to say you’re going 
away without saying good-by?” 

Alexander blushed a little. In his anxiety 
to escape he had forgotten the debt of gratitude 
he owed his protector. He held out his hand 
rather sheepishly and said, “Thank you very 
much.” Then a cold fear suddenly invaded 
him as he saw a last and crowning outrage be- 
ing prepared. 

There was no escape, and it happened. I 
have given Tommy away (on the whole a more 
deserving character), so I am not going to 
spare Alexander. In spite of his efforts to get 
under cover of the officer. Miss Rose Gibbons 
put her arm round his neck and kissed him 
affectionately on the forehead. Alexander 
emerged from the shop with a face the color of 
beetroot and escorted by the policeman. On the 


91 


Alexander at Bay 

whole he would certainly have suffered less if 
he had been spanked by Potter. And if the 
romantic Miss Gibbons wove Aleck into her 
dreams, as I imagine she did (he probably re- 
turned as a fair-haired youth at some appro- 
priate moment to tell her that he had never 
ceased to cherish the memory, and so on), it 
would have been well if she could have known 
that Alexander’s dreams of her were of the 
most ferocious and blood-stained character. 
But perhaps on the whole it is better that we 
should not know how we figure in other 
people’s dreams. 


CHAPTER VI 


PKIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATIONS 

T ommy and William made no attempt to 
follow Alexander when he scooted, Will- 
iam because of his sinister appointment at half- 
past four, and Tommy because he wanted to 
unfold a plan he had been hatching slowly ever 
since the evening before, and to get at Aleck 
in his present outlawed position seemed out of 
the question. So Tommy went down with 
William and waited outside the place of exe- 
cution, and afterward accompanied William 
to the washing place, where, after stamping 
about for a little while and blowing on his 
hands and saying it was a beastly swindle, and 
he didn’t see why he should always be the only 
one dropped on, William gradually became the 
William of every-day life again and amenable 
to reason. Then Tommy, who to the unin- 
structed observer might have been thought to 
have remained a callous (though not uninter- 
ested) spectator of his friend’s sufferings, but 
who had in reality done everything to show his 
sympathy that custom allowed, which wasn’t 
very much, proposed they should have a meet- 
92 


Confidential Communications 


93 


ing and settle what they were going to do about 
the blackboards. 

“Oh, blow the rotten blackboards,” said 
William with great energy. “I hate the very 
sight of the beastly things, I tell you. It is all 
that little ass Aleck and his silly footling 
plans.” 

“That’s all right,” said Tommy, “but we’ve 
got to do something, Billy. We can’t go on 
letting all the chaps be kept in, even if we’re 
never found out.” 

They were out in the street by this time, and 
William had his hands deep in his pockets and 
was evidently thinking hard. “If it weren’t 
for the bill coming and blackboards costing 
such a lot,” he said at last slowly, “I’d own up. 
Tommy, I would really. I’m sick of the whole 
thing, and besides they generally let you off 
lighter if you own up. Aleck might swear till 
he was black in the face, but I would.” 

“I would, too,” said Tommy, “if it wasn’t 
for the bills.” 

“You’ll catch it, too, will you?” said William 
with considerable interest. Tommy was ordi- 
narily very reticent about his home affairs, and 
never asked any one to his house to tea for 
reasons which to the reader should now be 
pretty obvious. 


94 


Confidential Communications 


“I wouldn’t exactly catch it,” said Tommy, 
“but I promised last night I wouldn’t get any 
bills sent in.” 

“Well, you are a chap,” said William. 
“How are you going to stop ’em sending in 
bills if they want to?” Tommy did not answer, 
and William at once scented a plan and became 
insistent. “I b’lieve you know a way,” he said ; 
“you might tell me. Tommy. I’ve always 
told you things, and I’ll keep it dark if you 
hke.” 

Tommy thought a moment. “Will you 
swear solemnly never to tell anybody?” he 
asked, and William professed himself posi- 
tively eager to do so. Tommy’s hesitation 
made him surer than ever that he had a plan 
of extraordinary subtlety and acuteness up his 
sleeve. William generally found it impossible 
to invent plans himself, and had a correspond- 
ingly increased appreciation of them in others. 

“Swear especially not to tell Aleck,” said 
Tommy, and William did on the spot. 

“Swear you won’t laugh at it,” said Tommy, 
who, now that he had committed himself, 
wished he hadn’t and found it impossible to 
go on. 

“I swear I won’t laugh at it,” said William. 
“Do buck up. Tommy,” he added, never 


Confidential Communications 


95 


dreaming of the desperate straits in which 
Tommy was floundering. 

For now for the first time Tommy realized 
what he had let himself in for, and to proceed 
seemed quite impossible. He would have to 
tell William about his belief that Our Lady 
would help you out of difficulties, and about his 
prayer, and William would certainly think him 
soft, even if he did not laugh. Tommy and 
William had known each other a good while 
and been through many adventures together, 
but their knowledge of each other had been so 
far all on the outside. Now, for the first time 
they would, so to speak, come into touch on the 
inside. Being young. Tommy thought that 
what you see of people from the outside was 
all there is to be seen, and what William looked 
like from that point of view I have already 
^ briefly indicated in the first chapter of this book. 
Now, if this explanation does not succeed in 
making you understand why Tommy was hor- 
ribly embarrassed and up a tree, nothing will. 

“Hurry up. Tommy, let’s have it,” said 
William, getting impatient, but Tommy only 
said, “Have you got to go straight home at 
once?” 

“I can stop out till six,” said William. “Is 
it an awfully long plan?” 


96 


Confidential Communications 


“N-not exactly,” said Tommy, searching 
eagerly for a means of escape. Let’s go into 
the park for a bit. They went into the park, 
which they happened to have just reached, and 
sat down on the same seat at the foot of Mr. 
Sadbrick’s statue. The coincidence is ex- 
plained by the fact that it was the seat nearest 
to the particular gate by which they entered. 

“This is the same seat where we sat before,” 
said Tommy irrelevantly, but William only 
grunted. “Get on; we don’t want to be here 
all night.” 

“You sat there and I sat here, and Aleck sat 
the other side of you,” continued Tommy dog- 
gedly. 

“I know we did,” answered William. “Has 
that got something to do with the plan?” he 
added hopefully. 

“No,” answered Tommy. “I say, Billy, 
d’you mind if I don’t tell you, after all?” 

“Why not?” said William. “I s’pose you 
think I’ll squeal.” 

“No, I don’t,” said Tommy. 

“I wouldn’t, really. Tommy,” said the other. 
“You can’t say I ever have.” 

Tommy didn’t answer, from the not very ex- 
alted reason that he hoped William would lose 
his temper. And ordinarily he would have done 


Confidential Communications 


97 


so undoubtedly, and the ending would have 
been a disedifying episode calling for the inter- 
vention of the park-keeper. This evening, 
however, his cares were weighing upon him so 
heavily that eagerness to hear the plan swal- 
lowed up every other emotion. There was a 
long pause, during which Tommy made holes 
in the gravel with his heel and felt rather 
mean. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” said William 
at last. 

“No,” said Tommy. 

“You might. Tommy,” said William with- 
out any temper, rather sorrowfully in fact. 
“I’ve always told you things,” he added in a 
tone of protest. 

“You’d only laugh at it,” said Tommy by 
way of defense. 

“I wouldn’t,” said William; “I swear I 
wouldn’t — not if it’s ever so silly.” 

“Yes, you would,” said Tommy persistently. 
“I know you would.” 

“You can’t know without trying,” "said 
William. “I bet you a penny I won’t,” he 
added with a touch of inspiration. 

“I got through the Oxford Locals by pray- 
ing to Our Lady, and putting up a candle,” 
said Tommy desperately. 


98 Confidential Communications 

“So did I,” said William; “I put up three 
candles — the penny sort,” he said. 

“I did it because of what Father Smith said 
at the sodality lecture,” said Tommy. 

“So did I,” said William. “At least I did 
partly. My father says prayers to Our Lady,” 
he went on; “he says she got his ship off a sand- 
bank once, and he always says the rosary when 
there’s a fog. But what’s that got to do with 
the plan?” 

“Father Smith says she always got him out 
of holes without any bother,” said Tommy, 
greatly relieved at finding the underneath-the- 
surface William so different from what he had 
expected. 

“I dessay,” answered his companion. “We 
always say the rosary every night for my father 
to come home safe.” 

“Do you really, Billy?” said Tommy, quite 
astonished at this revelation of unsuspected 
piety. “I say it sometimes for my father, too. 
He’s dead, you know.” 

“Is he?” answered William, feeling that 
somehow he was getting to know Tommy 
better than ever before, and liking the feeling. 
“I’m beastly sorry.” 

“That’s one reason,” said Tommy, continu- 
ing, and turning a little red, “why I promised 


Confidential Communications 


99 


not to get any bills sent in, ’cos my mater hasn’t 
got much tin, and she asked me not to. Don’t 
you think yourself it’s the sort of hole Our 
Lady would pull you out of, Billy?” 

“You bet,” answered William. “I wouldn’t 
be too sure, all the same,” he continued. “Mat 
says letting the chaps be kept in’s about the 
lowest down trick he’s ever heard of.” 

“I’ve thought of that,” answered Tommy 
eagerly; “I said a prayer to Our Lady last 
night about it, and I went to Mass at our 
church at home this morning, and put up a 
candle, ’cos I’ve got a most ripping idea.” 

“Good lad,” murmured William, highly in- 
terested. There was going to be a plan after 
all. 

“My mother said blackboards cost about ten 
pounds, but I don’t believe they do really. I 
got a preparatory kid to go to the porter this 
morning and ask how much, and he said a mat- 
ter of thirty shillings. If that’s all they cost 
we might put part of the money on the master’s 
desk with a letter to say what it’s for. They’d 
probably stop keeping the chaps in if we did 
that.” 

“We might ask him to in the letter,” sug- 
gested William, who seemed taken by the 
idea. 


100 Confidential Communications 

‘We might,” Tommy agreed. “And even if 
they go on keeping ’em in, when we’ve paid 
off a certain amount we could own up, because 
if it was only a little they probably wouldn’t 
send in any bill, and if they did it wouldn’t 
matter so much.” 

“How much do you think we ought to put,” 
asked William, “and how are we going to 
get it?” 

“The more we put,” said Tommy decisively, 
“the sorrier they’ll think we are. Haven’t you 
got any saved up?” 

“In the savings bank I have,” said William, 
“but you can’t get it out without a letter and 
all sorts of bother, and besides, my mother’s got 
the book, and she’d want to know what I 
wanted it for.” 

“I’ve got five bob in a money box,” said 
Tommy, “that will do to begin with, and I vote 
we make Aleck pony up a bit.” 

“Rather,” said William. “He began it, and 
I expect he can get as much as he likes out of 
his aunt, and he’s got a big sister as well.” 

“If he raises five, that’ll be ten bob — which 
isn’t so bad,” said Tommy. “Can’t you raise 
anything, Billy?” 

“I might borrow some from my sister,” an- 
swered William. “I know she’s got some in her 


Confidential Communications 101 

money box, and she’d probably let me have it. 
But she’d want it back.” 

“We’d pay it back, all right,” said Tommy; 
“the main thing is to get it. If we could raise 
fifteen bob by to-morrow it ought to make it 
all right.” 

“It is an awful lot,” said William thought- 
fully, “but it’s better than having bills sent in.” 

“ Why’re you so awfully anxious not to get a 
bill?” asked Tommy, who was also conscious 
that a new intimacy had grown up between 
them, and liked the feeling. “Would you get 
hammered or something?” 

William shook his head. “It’s something I 
promised my father,” he said. “I’ll tell you, 
if you like. Tommy. I wouldn’t tell every- 
body, but I will you.” 

“Good old Billy,” murmured Tommy ap- 
preciatively. 

“It was something I promised him just be- 
fore he sailed this trip. Me and Mat went 
down to the bar with the steamer and came 
back with the pilot, ’cos it was on a half holi- 
day. He made Mat go out of the cabin, so 
I was in there alone with him.” William’s face 
was getting pinker and pinker, and he was be- 
ginning to speak in a gulpy sort of voice. 

“Good old Billy,” murmured Tommy again. 


102 Confidential Communications 

“He said our schoolin’ was costin’ an awful 
lot, and that they said I wasn’t doin’ any work, 
and I hadn’t been down to meet him for two 
trips running. We aren’t let go down to meet 
him if we get into rows. See?” 

Tommy nodded. 

He said, “You’ll keep straight this trip, 
won’t you, old man, and generally he only calls 
the big ones ‘old man,’ and me and Jimmy 
‘kid’ — and I promised I would, and he said he 
should look out for me next time he came into 
port. Then the steward came, and said they 
were dropping the pilot and I had to go. 
See?” 

Tommy nodded. “If a bill comes in you 
won’t be let go down?” he said. 

“Not a chance,” answered William, “and be- 
sides he’d be told about it, and he’d think it 
awfully mean after his telling me about the 
schoolin’ costin’ a lot. Besides, I haven’t really 
been working any better, I don’t think; I meant 
to, but I haven’t. You haven’t noticed any 
difference, have you?” 

“No, I haven’t,” said Tommy truthfully. 
“But you might brace up a bit now; there’s 
nearly a month,” he added. “It might all come 
right if you made a try, besides saying some 
prayers.” 


Confidential Communications 


108 


“I think I will,” answered William. ‘‘Have 
you got a penny on you?” 

“Yes,” said Tommy. “D’you mean because 
you bet you wouldn’t laugh?” 

“I’ll let you off that, because you didn’t say 
you’d taken it on,” said William. “But it 
might be a good thing to stick up another 
candle.” 

Tommy nodded. “St. Stephen’s is just over 
the other side of the park — we might put it 
there,” he said. “Nobody will see us.” 

They got up together and departed, and this 
time I have no idea what Mr. Sadbrick’s reflec- 
tions would have been, supposing he had over- 
heard the conversation. I imagine it would 
have been altogether beyond him. They pro- 
ceeded for some time in silence, when William 
said suddenly: 

“I say. Tommy.” 

“What?” said Tommy. 

“Why did you make such a fuss about tell- 
ing me your plan?” 

Tommy turned a little red. “I thought 
you’d think me soft,” he said; “I’m awfully 
glad I told you now.” 

“There’s nothing soft in praying to Our 
Blessed Lady,” said William gravely. “My 
father does, and no one could call him soft.” 


104 'Confidential Communications 

“ ’Course not,” said Tommy. ‘‘But some 
chaps would, all the same.” 

“Silly idjuts!” answered William, and 
Tommy assented. 

And so they went in great good fellowship 
to St. Stephen’s, and put up two candles, and 
said three Hail Marys. And this chapter, 
though short, is much more important than you 
might think, because it was really the begin- 
ning of the friendship between William and 
Tommy, a friendship which lasted all their 
lives. You have perhaps seen a picture called 
“The Birth of a Friendship,” in which two ath- 
letic young men are represented as shaking 
hands after running a race. My picture on 
that subject has two solemn-faced little boys 
in it, and shows them coming out of the porch 
of St. Stephen’s Church. 


CHAPTER VII 


A TEA PARTY 

T T WILL be remembered that we left Alex- 
ander under somewhat painful circum- 
stances ; he was being escorted by the officer to 
a tram, having just said farewell to Miss Rose 
Gibbons. So anxious was he to escape the 
officer that he actually took the wrong tram 
without noticing the fact, and so squandered 
twopence quite unnecessarily. This, added to 
the various events of the afternoon, put him in 
a very bad temper by the time he reached home. 

Now, when Alexander was in a bad temper 
he did not show it in any of the ordinary ways, 
but had a particular way of his own. He 
hardly ever flared up and became violent, and 
it was not often that you could positively swear 
that he was sulking. Instead he would deliver 
sudden and secret attacks upon all who were 
unfortunate enough to come across his path at 
the time, doing and saying sometimes most 
horribly spiteful things. Really the same al- 
lowances ought to have been made for him on 
these occasions as are generally made for 
people who lose their tempers and smash furni- 

105 


106 


A Tea Party 


ture, but they never were, for the simple 
reason that he seemed to be doing it in cold 
blood. This was one of the reasons why he 
was, on the whole, a distinctly unpopular boy. 
If he had not been so well able to take care of 
himself he might have had a rather rough time 
of it at school. How he came to be so closely 
associated with Tommy and WiUiam I confess 
I can not explain. If you have ever done any 
chemistry you will know that the laws which 
govern the association of atoms are for the 
most part a hidden mystery, and the same cer- 
tainly holds good of associations of school boys. 

It certainly was not because either of the 
two were blind to his faults; on the contrary, 
they were extremely alive to them, and on their 
way from St. Stephen’s Church to Alexander’s 
home in Roscommon Street that afternoon they 
discussed them with great frankness. They 
had decided to lay the new plan of campaign 
before him at once, not as a suggestion await- 
ing his approval and confirmation, but as a 
thing he had to take on whether he liked it or 
not. It is true that at ordinary times Alex- 
ander was, in a sense, the leader, owing to the 
superior nimbleness of his wits, but his leader- 
ship was never an altogether undisputed one, 
especially on the part of William, who made 


107 


A Tea Party 

up in vigor of character and pertinacity what 
he lacked in quickness. Ever since the failure 
of the scheme for putting things right by 
greasing a second blackboard, the Brotherhood 
had been in a state of seething revolt, and they 
were now firmly determined to force this new 
plan down his throat at all costs. William, in 
particular, was very glad at having a plan to 
force down. On the way they discussed how it 
was to be done. “Shall we tell him about the 
praying part?’’ asked Tommy. 

“ ’Course we shall,” answered William; 
“it’s one of the most important parts, and he 
certainly will have to do it as well as pony up. 
You just leave it to me.” 

Tommy felt vaguely that there was a diffi- 
culty hanging about somewhere, but he couldn’t 
quite put his finger on it. “When can you get 
the five shillings from your sister?” he asked, 
and William said he might be able to get it 
straight away if the girls had come back from 
school. 

“It might be better if we did it to-night, 
’stead of waiting,” said Tommy. “If they’re 
kept in to-morrow. Potter’ll be madder’n ever, 
and if he catches Aleck he might make him own 
up and spoil it all. We’d have to own up, too, 
then, wouldn’t we?” 


108 


A Tea Party 

“Dunno,” said William doubtfully; ‘‘we 
might. But don’t you worry, they’ll never 
catch old Aleck, leastways I bet Potter doesn’t. 
Aleck’s about the slipperiest chap I ever met, 
and if they did and began to spank him or any- 
thing he’d probably pretend to have a fit and 
frighten ’em all to death, or somethin’.” 

“I dessay,” answered Tommy, “but all the 
same, we ought to stop ’em being kept in again 
if we can. I felt miserable when Atty got sent 
down this morning, didn’t you?” 

“A bit,” said William, “but it was kiddish to 
blub like that. I’d be glad enough to cut it 
short,” he went on. “Mat says he’s goin’ to 
lick me every night till we do.” 

“I could come to night studies to-night — at 
least I think I could,” said Tommy. The qual- 
ifying clause was due to the remembrance of 
Little Bo Peep of the night before, and the 
possibility of his services being required again. 

“Me an’ Aleck always go,” said William, 
and at this moment they arrived at No. 7 Ros- 
common Street, the residence, it will be remem- 
bered, of Alexander, his aunt and his amiable 
sister. Faces (female, for the girls had re- 
turned) observed them from the May residence 
next door, but William, who had leave to stop 
out till tea time at six, was conscious of having 


A Tea Party 109 

the law on his side, and surveyed them with in- 
difference. 

They rang the bell, and almost as they did 
so the door opened and Alexander’s sister ap- 
peared — evidently about to go for a walk. I 
have said that she was an angel; she was also, 
I should add, a pupil teacher, and at that very 
same convent school attended by Susannah and 
the others. This being so, William and she 
were naturally well known to each other, and 
she nodded pleasantly when she saw him. 

“ ’Afternoon, Willie,” she said, drawing on 
some very stylish tan-colored gloves. “Want 
to see Aleck?” 

William raised his cap politely. (I may 
mention, perhaps, that Miss Comoran and the 
elder Misses May were in league to teach the 
younger male portion of each family to be 
polite to ladies. Defaulters were at once re- 
ported at headquarters. 

“Yes, please. Miss Aggie,” he said. “This 
is Tommy Browne,” he added, by way of in- 
troduction. Miss Comoran held out her hand 
in a very friendly way, and Tommy looked shy, 
and also raised his cap, less gracefully, however, 
than William, because he had not been so well 
drilled. 

“Come right in, both of you,” said Miss 


110 


A Tea Party 


Comoran hospitably. “Aunty’s out for the 
day, but Aleck’s just having tea, so you’re just 
in time,” and she led the way in and ushered 
them into a room at the back, where, sure 
enough, Aleck was having tea, and not looking 
very pleasant about it, either. He looked up 
as they entered, but said nothing more genial 
than “Hello!” 

“Here are some friends of yours, Aleck,” 
said his sister. “They’re going to stop to tea. 
Run down, like a dear boy, and ask Sarah for 
one of this afternoon’s loaves and a pot of jam, 
and you can pick which sort you like.” 

Aleck departed on the errand with an alac- 
rity which may be explained by the fact that 
the table in its actual state was innocent of 
jam, while the loaf upon it was certainly not 
that afternoon’s. 

“Now, sit down, boys, and make yourselves 
at home,” said Miss Comoran cheerfully, bust- 
ling about, putting new cups and plates on 
the table, and generally preparing things. 
They sat down, a little taken aback by this un- 
expected outburst of hospitality. You will re- 
member that the primary object of their visit 
was to extort five shillings from Aleck and 
thrust their plan down his throat. William was 
particularly yncomfortable, being conscious 


Ill 


A Tea Party 

that his hands were not above reproach, and 
having had experience in the past of the effi- 
cient machinery of the League for Teaching 
the Young Politeness. 

“Please, Miss Aggie, I think I’ll just go and 
tell them I’m stopping to tea,” he said at last, 
struck by a sudden happy thought, and keeping 
his hands carefuly concealed underneath his 
cap. “Mother’ll be expecting me.” 

“Oh, that will be all right, Willie,” answered 
his hostess. “I’m just going out, and I’ll call 
in and tell them as I pass. Will you sit here 
and you sit there — I’ve forgotten your names 
now, isn’t that silly of me? Let me see, what 
was it? Timothy Tubbins?” Miss Aggie 
prided herself on her skill in putting the young 
at their ease. 

“Tommy Browne, miss,” said Tommy in an 
agony of shyness. He would probably have 
been put at his ease some more but for the op- 
portune arrival of Aleck with the loaf and a 
large pot of jam. “It’s quite hot,” he said; 
“it’s only just come.” 

“Good!” said Miss Aggie. “You can all 
make yourselves ill, then, can’t you? You 
don’t mind, do you, Willie?” William grinned 
appreciatively and said he didn’t. New bread 
was an unknown luxury in the May household, 


112 


A Tea Party 


on account of the well-known rapidity with 
which it disappeared. 

“Well, I must be off now, I’m afraid,” said 
Miss Comoran. “Aleck, you must do the hon- 
ors. Good-by, all of you.” 

William rose and held the door open and was 
rewarded with an approving smile. The 
league, you see, had not labored altogether in 
vain. “I won’t forget to look in and tell them 
you’re here,” she said as she disappeared. 

A sigh of relief went up from the guests as 
the front door was heard to close, and company 
manners disappeared as if by magic. It is a 
sad fact that sometimes even the society of 
angels is found to be a bar to conversation. 

“How did you get on?” asked William, help- 
ing himself liberally to jam. 

“Oh, I dodged ’em,” said Aleck airily. 
“Potter’s an awful ass, really. Shall we toss 
up for the crust? It was jolly lucky your meet- 
ing my sister like that; she’s boss to-day, you 
see, and wanted to make a hit.” 

''You keep the crust,” said William diplo- 
matically. “I wish she was boss always.” 

“Good you remembered to open the door,” 
said Aleck ; “she’d have told your mother about 
it if you hadn’t. Have some more tea. 
Tommy?” 


A Tea Party 


113 


Tommy had some more tea. 

“Have you found out why there wasn’t any 
row about the Upper Sixth blackboard?” asked 
William. 

“They just don’t want it to get known,” said 
Aleck ; “they’ve turned it round and so it hasn’t 
been found out yet. You’ll see it’ll be all right, 
as I said, when they do.” 

This wasn’t at all the line of action desired 
by the rebels, and William gave a dissatisfied 
grunt. “Tommy and me don’t think it will,” 
he said. 

“Oh, don’t you?” said Aleck; “you jus’ wait 
and see.” 

“Not us,” answered William, pushing away 
his plate with determination. “We’ve got an- 
other plan, haven’t we. Tommy? That’s what 
we’ve come about.” 

“We want to put some money on the 
master’s desk to pay for it,” said Tommy; “we 
can raise fifteen bob if you’ll give five.” 

“What rot!” answered Aleck uncompro- 
misingly. “You aren’t even sure that the 
things are really spoiled at all. No one’s tried 
taking it out with blotting paper yet.” 

“If they aren’t they’ll give it us back,” said 
William doggedly; “we’re not going to have 
the chaps kept in any longer, I can tell you 


114 


A Tea Party 


that. And we’re not going to have any bills 
sent in, either. See?” 

“We’ve tried your plan,” said Tommy; “y^^ 
might try ours.” 

“I don’t see why I should,” answered Aleck, 
who in his heart of hearts did not feel quite so 
confident of his own scheme as he wished it to 
appear, “especially as it’s such a silly, foolin’ 
plan.” 

“It’s a good deal better than anything you’ve 
ever thought of,” said William hotly. “And 
if you don’t back us up, all I can say is you’re 
about the lowest down sneak I’ve ever met.” 

“Won’t you have some more jam, Billy?” 
said Aleck gently. He did not say it, I am 
afraid, with a view to softening the hardness 
of William’s judgment, but because he thought 
it would annoy him. And it did. 

“No, I won’t,” said William with great 
fierceness. “And don’t you think you’re askin’ 
us to tea, ’cos you’re not. It wasn’t him, was 
it. Tommy?” Tommy diplomatically took a 
large mouthful of bread and jam and made no 
articulate reply. 

“She’ll be awfully pleased to hear how nicely 
you’ve been behaving, Billy,” said Alexander 
in the same soft voice. (Please make as much 
allowance for him as you can ; he was in a horrid 


115 


A Tea Party 

temper) ; “she’ll tell your mother about it, and 
you’ll be well spanked to-night.” 

“I won’t,” shouted William, goaded to fury 
and forgetfulness of the laws of hospitality by 
the insulting taunt. 

“Oh, yes, you will, Billy,” continued Alex- 
ander in the same irritating tone; “you didn’t 
know he got spanked when he was a naughty 
boy, did you. Tommy? We can hear him 
squealin’ through the wall sometimes. My 
aunt says it’s a puffect nuisance.” 

“You liar!” yelled the unhappy William, the 
tears of mortification starting to his eyes at 
this (largely imaginary and very highly col- 
ored) revelation of domestic secrets, and try- 
ing to get at Alexander, who was careful to 
keep the table between them. “You just wait 
till I catch you, you ugly little beast.” 

“Shut up, Billy,” said Tommy, interposing; 
“you can’t fight him here, ’cos he asked us to 
tea.” 

“ ’Twasn’t him,” said William, gasping with 
rage. “I wouldn’t have stopped if it was him. 
It was his sister.” 

“It’s all the same,” said Tommy. 

“It’s awfully bad form, you know, Billy,” 
said Alexander softly; “that’s why your 
mother’ll be in such a rage.” 


116 


A Tea Party 


""You can’t talk,” said Tommy candidly; 
“it’s much worse to say things like that to a 
chap when you’ve asked him to tea.” Alex- 
ander looked a little abashed for a moment. 

“You’ll get spanked yourself some day,” said 
Tommy, feeling that he was master of the situ- 
ation, “and then you won’t think it so funny.” 

“No, he won’t,” said William bitterly. “His 
aunt’s much too big a funk.” 

“You leave my aunt alone!” shouted Alex- 
ander. 

“You shut up telling lies!” yelled William. 

It was a mercy that no member of the 
League for Promoting Politeness in the Young 
was present. 

“I’ll fight you to-morrow, Aleck,” said 
Tommy gravely, “for telling lies about 
Billy.” 

""I don’t want to fight,” said Aleck, suddenly 
backing down. “What is there to fight about? 
I ask you in to tea (with a glance at William) , 
and Billy goes and gets in a tearin’ rage and 
calls my aunt names. And I was just goin’ to 
say I’d let you have the five shillings, though 
it’s about all I’ve got, and though I think it’s 
the silliest plan I ever heard of.” Aleck’s voice 
had taken the tone of virtuous protest in which 
it so excelled. 


A Tea Party 


117 


‘‘Were you really, Aleck?” said Tommy, for- 
getting his indignation. “That’s awfully de- 
cent of you.” 

“ ’Course I was,” said Aleck. “I will now if 
Billy’ll stop fooling, and if he’s really got five 
bob himself. We’ll put it on to-night after 
night studies.” 

“Bill’s goin’ to borrow it from his sister,” 
said Tommy incautiously, whereat Aleck 
laughed in an aggressively offensive manner. 
“She’ll lend it to him, will she?” he said. “I 
donft think.” 

“Yes, she will,” said William, still simmer- 
ing with indignation. 

“Which one?” asked Aleck. 

“Never you mind,” said William hotly; “I’ll 
get it, and that is enough for you.” 

“Well, go and get it now,” said Aleck; “you 
can get over the garden wall and I’ll go and 
get mine, and Tommy and I’ll wait for you 
down there.” 

“Do go, Billy,” said Tommy persuasively, 
“then we can settle everything straight off.” 

“I’ll go, ’cos you ask me. Tommy,” said 
William with dignity, “and I’ll meet you down 
in the garden in ten minutes.” 

With that he departed. The houses in Ros- 
common Street, being built on precisely the 


118 A Tea Party 

same plan, he had no difficulty in finding his 
way out. 

“You were a cad to say that about Billy,” 
said Tommy, when they were alone. “I don’t 
wonder he got in a rage.” 

“Well, it’s pufFectly true,” answered Aleck; 
“they all get spanked — at least all the kids do. 
I tell you, his mother’s a holy terror; I’m jolly 
glad she’s not mine. My aunt says she’s got a 
masculine temperament.” 

“What’s that mean?” asked Tommy. 

“It means she’s got a beastly bad temper,” 
answered Aleck. “At least I think it does. 
Will you wait here a second while I go up and 
get my five bob?” 

Tommy said he would, and a few minutes 
later Aleck returned and conducted him down 
into the back garden. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY 

rfloMMY and Aleck sat on the garden wall and 
waited. It was quite a low wall, not more 
than four feet high, I should think, and afforded 
a fine view of the back of William’s home. Aleck 
enlivened the time of waiting, which consider- 
ably exceeded the contracted-for ten minutes, 
by pointing out the rooms occupied by the dif- 
ferent members of the May family, with whose 
domestic concerns he seemed to have an inti- 
mate acquaintance. He took all the windows 
in order, beginning at the top, “where Mat and 
Billy sleep,” down to the back kitchen. “I 
wonder which of the girls he’s going to borrow 
it from,” he said when he had finished; “I bet 
you anything you like it’s Susy.” 

“Which is Susy?” asked Tommy, who had 
been throughout an interested listener. 

“She’s the next after Billy,” said Aleck. 
“Not pretty, but a nice little thing. She and 
Billy always hang together.” 

“Do they?” said Tommy, and sighed, for in 
his sentimental moments he used to wish he 
had had a sister and to wonder what she would 


119 


120 


The Knight and the Lady 

have been like. He felt just then a little en- 
vious of Billy. 

“There are nine of ’em altogether,” con- 
tinued Aleck. “One went off to be a nun last 
year, a jolly nice girl she was, too; one of the 
best of ’em. Jack’s apprentice on the Bulu~ 
wayo, the Captain’s ship; he’s the second old- 
est. Two of the girls go to the convent school ; 
one’s older than Mat and one’s younger. 
They’re all right, but not quite my sort ; they’re 
very thick with my sister and a bit stuck up. 
Then there’s Billy, and then there’s Susy, and 
then there’re some kids. I told you it would 
be,” he added, as the back door opened and 
William emerged, in company with a little girl 
in a brown holland pinafore, grasping tightly 
with the unoccupied hand what on closer in- 
spection was seen to be a very capacious money 
box, the lid adorned with the legend: “A Pres- 
ent from Blackpool,” and a slightly imagina- 
tive sketch in colors of that delightful water- 
ing place. 

“She wants you to promise to pay it back,” 
said William, a little shamefacedly, as seeming 
to confess to his own doubtful solvency. “But 
she’ll let us have it, won’t you, Susy?” 

Aleck and Tommy were still sitting on the 
wall, and looked down judicially on the pair. 


121 


The Knight and the Lady 

“Well, you are a little softy, Susy,” said 
Aleck. “You don’t think you’ll ever see it back 
again, surely.” 

Susy looked up at him in genuine alarm. 
Not one of them even guessed the immensity 
of the sacrifice she was making for her beloved 
William. 

“Willie said you’d all promise to pay it 
back,” she said distressfully. “It’s taken a 
drefful time to save up.” 

“Willie’s talking through his hat,” an- 
swered Aleck roughly. “It’s bad enough to 
have to pay five bob yourself without promising 
to pay back other people’s. Tm not going to, 
I tell you straight.” 

“I’ll promise,” said Tommy suddenly, and 
blushing a little. All his life he had been very 
shy with ladies. “I’ll promise faithfully.” 

Susy looked at him gratefully, and gave 
William the money box at once. “Got the 
key?” he asked, shaking it. 

She began to search in her pocket for it. 
“Give it to me,” said Aleck, and William 
thoughtlessly handed the box over. 

“You don’t want a key for this sort of box,” 
said Aleck, looking at it contemptuously. 
“You just pull it and it comes open.” 

“Oh, please, please don’t,” cried the little 


122 


The Knight and the Lady 

girl in great distress. “It’s my only money box, 
and it’s got a bu’ful lock.” 

“Drop it, Aleck,” roared Tommy in such a 
ferocious way that he took them all by sur- 
prise. “Drop it, d’you hear.” Aleck obviously 
did hear, but instead of dropping it, he gave a 
wrench at the lid. A moment later he had dis- 
appeared from view altogether, having been 
precipitated backwards over the wall by a vig- 
orous blow in the chest from Tommy, who at 
the same time descended from his seat (on the 
May side of the wall) and took up a defensive 
attitude. 

A moment later Aleck reappeared on the 
other side decidedly pink in the face, and evi- 
dently meaning mischief. “ What’re you laugh- 
ing at?” he said indignantly — to William, how- 
ever, not to Tommy. 

''You'' answered William cheerfully; “you 
did look funny.” 

“You come over here, young Billy,” an- 
swered Aleck, “and I’ll give you something to 
laugh for.” 

"You come over here,” retorted William; 
“Tommy’s got something for you, haven’t you. 
Tommy?” 

“Oh, please make him give back my money 
box,” cried Susannah, addressing Tommy, 


The Knight and the Lady 123 

whose dashing exploit had much impressed her 
(as indeed it was intended to) . “It’s my only 
money box, and I know he’s going to break it 
open.” 

“Give it back,” said Tommy. 

“Come and fetch it,” answered Aleck, back- 
ing away toward the house. Tommy vaulted 
over the wall and made a dash for him, but 
Aleck was too quick and disappeared through 
the back door. A minute later he appeared at 
one of the upper story windows making be- 
lieve to force the box open with the end of a 
poker. At this awful sight Susannah broke 
down altogether, and hid her face in her apron 
and wept aloud. 

The baffled Tommy returned, rather crest- 
fallen, to the wall and watched William’s not 
very successful attempts to console the afflicted 
proprietor. From under the brown holland 
pinafore, amid the torrent of heart-rending 
sobs, the words “money box,” “poker,” “horrid 
boy,” could at times be distinguished. Tommy 
was terribly distressed. 

“I say, don’t cry,” he said at last; please 
don’t cry. I’ll get it back for you all right, 
really I will; Aleck’s only foolin’!” 

No reply beyond a more than usually con- 
vulsive sob. 


124 


The Knight and the Lady 


“I’ll knock his ugly head off, really I will,” 
said Tommy earnestly. “And I’ll get you a 
new money box if he spoils it.” But the sobs 
continued unabated. 

“And I’ll get my mother to paint a picture 
on the outside,” continued Tommy, racking his 
little brains for motives of consolation. “And 
she paints most be-utifully, doesn’t she, Billy?” 

“Somethin’ wonderful,” answered William. 
“It’ll be worth hundreds of pounds,” he added, 
“at the very least.” 

But alas! a present from Blackpool in the 
hand is worth more than even a masterpiece of 
Mrs. Clementina’s in the bush, and the tears 
still flowed unabated. 

“Shall I tickle her under the arms?” said 
William, to whom the sight of distressed dam- 
sels was a not unfamiliar one. “It makes ’em 
stop very often.” Tommy, however, was so 
obviously shocked at the suggestion that he did 
not pursue it. They both stood by and looked 
helplessly on. “A present — from a — friend,” 
came in piteous tones from under the brown 
holland pinafore. 

“Is there any one in there besides Aleck?” 
asked Tommy, struck by a sudden idea. 

“Two servants,” answered William. “The 
cook’s a beast,” he added emphatically. 


125 


The Knight and the Lady 

‘‘Will you come if I do?” asked Tommy. 

“Come where?” said William. 

“Into the house and make him give it up,” 
said Tommy. “We can say his sister asked us 
to tea.” 

William looked rather alarmed at the pro- 
posal, which contained elements of danger un- 
known to Tommy. But after a moment’s con- 
sideration he consented. “We’ll have to keep 
our eyes open for his aunt,” he said by way of 
warning. 

“Look here, Susy, you stop crying, like a 
good girl, and we’ll go after Aleck and punch 
his head, and get it back,” he added, putting his 
arm round her neck and pulling away the 
brown pinafore screen. The sobs sensibly di- 
minished at his words, but it was a very woe- 
begone and tear-stained little face that ap- 
peared, all the same. 

“He won’t hurt it,” said Tommy. “He 
knows Billy and me’d pay him back if he did.” 
Susannah smiled faintly through her tears at 
this valorous utterance. 

“You stop here and wait,” said William. 
“We’ll be back directly and give it you. He 
deposited her carefully on the top of the wall, 
from which point of vantage she watched them 


126 


The Knight and the Lady 

depart on their perilous errand, mopping her 
eyes at intervals. 

They approached the back door and opened 
it. Within all seemed quiet, and they entered 
with all the sensations of midnight marauders. 
The kitchen was underground, and not a sign 
was to be seen of the retainers of the family. 
In the hall they paused and listened. “That’s 
his aunt’s umbrella,” said William in an awe- 
struck whisper, “and Aggie’s galoshes. We’ll 
be in a hole if she comes back and catches us.” 

“I thought you said she couldn’t say boo to 
a goose,” whispered Tommy. “Why are you 
so scared about it?” 

“My mother’s always telling her she’s too 
slack with Aleck,” whispered his companion, 
“and that she ought to keep him in order better 
and she doesn’t like it, and keeps on the lookout 
for any of us, and goes and tells if she sees us 
doing anything. She caught Mat smoking 
once. My gummy, there was a row !” Tommy 
nodded. “Shall we go upstairs ?” he whispered, 
his whole soul being bent on the recovery of the 
money box. “Which room was it he looked at 
us through the window?” 

“The bathroom,” answered William. 
“Aleck’s bedroom’s on the floor above. I say. 
Tommy, pr’aps we’d better not.” 


The Knight and the Lady 127 

If, dear sir or madam, you have ever tried 
the experiment of what it feels like to walk 
about uninvited in somebody else’s empty house 
you will understand William’s hesitation. 
There is a sort of sense of desecration, a “tres- 
passers will be prosecuted” sort of feeling, an 
impression that some one is going to rush out 
from behind a door and seize you, which ex- 
plains, I fancy, why burglary is not more pop- 
ular than it is. Both boys were a little daunted, 
to tell the truth, and paused at the foot of the 
stairs to listen. As they did so a burst of mel- 
ody arose from the kitchen in the basement 
down below. 

“I wo’den leave — ^my little wooden ’ut — for 
you — oo; ’wo’den leave — my little wooden ’ut 
— for you — oo” a shrill female voice was heard 
to declare, and a firm step was heard ascending 
the kitchen stair, the melody growing each mo- 
ment in intensity. At the sound William gave 
one wild glance at the front door and then 
bolted upstairs and into the bathroom at the 
top. Tommy following him. “That’s the 
coohf" said William, when they were safely 
under cover. “I pea-shooted her once, and 
she’s been looking for me ever since.” 
He had bolted the door, and was listening 
with his ear to the keyhole. “Oh, crumbs! 


128 The Knight and the Lady 

she’s coming,” he whispered. And she 
was. 

She came to the door and tried the handle. 
She tried it first with one hand and then with 
the other, and then with both. She shook it 
and leaned against it so that it creaked omi- 
nously. Then she called in a low voice, “Is 
that you. Miss Aggie? Is that you. Master 
Aleck?” Then she shook it again more vio- 
lently. The two trespassers stood holding 
their breath and with their hearts in their boots. 
“Who’s in there?” she called at last. “Who is 
it?” It is scarcely necessary to state that she 
called in vain. 

“I’ll tell your Ha^nt^ Master Aleck,” came 
as a last despairing effort. 

Then there was a pause. “Can’t we get out 
of the window?” whispered Tommy; but 
William shook his head hopelessly. “Clear 
drop,” he said. 

Again the handle was violently agitated, 
and the whole door creaked under violent pres- 
sure from outside. Then the footsteps seemed 
to go away, and for a moment hope sprung up 
in the hearts of the captives. It was only for a 
moment, however, for their adversary had only 
gone to the well of the staircase and was call- 
ing loudly for Alexander. “Master Ale-eck, 


129 


The Knight and the Lady 

Master Al-eck!” they could hear her shouting, 
and immediately afterward Alexander’s voice, 
asking in its gentlest tones what the matter 
was. 

“There’s some one in the bathroom. Master 
Aleck,” said the cook in awestruck tones. “As 
I was coming up the kitchen stairs I heard an 
’eavy tread above me ’ead, and when I come 
up the door was fast and bolted. What’s be- 
come of them boys you had to tea. Master 
Aleck?” 

“Oh, they went home a good while ago,” 
Aleck was heard to answer. “Billy May was 
one of them,” he traitorously added. 

^'The old sneakr muttered William indig- 
nantly under his breath. 

“Ho! was it?” exclaimed the cook. “Then 
I’ll be bound it’s ’im. Master Aleck. He’s 
come back to see what mischief he can be after, 
that’s what he’s done. A more impudent little 
rascal I never set eyes on.” 

“He is rather cheeky, isn’t he, cook?” an- 
swered Aleck virtuously. 

“Impudent isn’t the word,” said the cook, 
whose indignation was evidently rising. “I’ll 
take him straight in to his mar, thafs what I’ll 
do. You’d best come out at wunst,” she added, 
shaking the door handle vigorously. 


130 


The Knight and the Lady 

“Don’t you think you’d better get a police- 
man, cook?” Aleck suggested gently, with a 
sudden remembrance of Miss Rose Gibbons. 
The words froze the blood of the unhappy cap- 
tives. 

“If be don’t come out at wunst,” answered 
the cook, “I will so. Are you coming?” she 
demanded, with another shake at the door. 

“Shall we?” whispered Tommy, but William 
shook his head. 

“I’m going for a policeman,” she said 
through the keyhole. “And you’ll be took to 
the lock-up and give a good ’iding — and not 
before you want it,” she concluded indignantly. 
But there was no response from within. 

“Very well,” said the cook solemnly, “so 
be it! Don’t you blame me if you spend this 
night in a prison cell. You just lock the door. 
Master Aleck, and keep an eye on it, and I’ll 
step out and ask Constable Robbins to step 
in.” 

“Please be quick, cook,” said Aleck. ‘‘They 
may force the lock and half murder me while 
you’re gone.” 

“I won’t be five minutes,” answered the 
cook. “I won’t even wait to put on me ’at.” 
A clearly felt vibration revealed to the prison- 
ers the fact that she was tripping lightly down- 


131 


The Knight and the Lady 

stairs, and a moment later the noise of the 
front door opening told them she had gone. 
Instantly William shot back the bolt and 
tugged at the handle, but the fatal fact that 
the key had been left on the outside placed 
them absolutely in Alexander’s power. 

“Oh, Aleck, let’s out, there’s a decent chap,” 
shouted William, almost beside himself with 
terror. “Don’t let the bobby come and arrest 
us.” 

“Aren’t you sorry you were so rude at tea, 
Billy?” came softly from the other side. 

“Yes, I am,” shrieked William. 

“Awfully sorry?” asked Aleck. 

“Awfully sorry,” shouted the prisoner. 

“Aren’t you sorry you pushed me over the 
wall. Tommy?” 

“Yes,” answered Tommy, “beastly sorry.” 

“Wasn’t it a caddish thing to do. Tommy?” 

“Awfully caddish,” shouted Tommy. 

It was, we must admit, an unqualified sur- 
render, but, dear sir or madam, would you, 
under similar circumstances, have acted other- 
wise? 

Then Alexander unlocked the door, retreat- 
ing as he did so to the ascending flight of stairs 
in case of an attack. But his prisoners were 
far from entertaining any such designs. The 


132 


The Knight and the Lady 


open door revealed two white-faced little boys, 
half scared out of their lives, and whose one 
and only thought was to seek safety in flight. 
Even Aleck for once was moved to pity, his 
good nature getting the better of his love of 
tormenting. “I won’t let her go in and tell 
about you, Billy,” he said; “she doesn’t know 
for certain it’s you, and I won’t tell her.” 
William gave him a grateful look and was 
gone. Tommy was just about to follow him 
when a sudden remembrance of Susannah, 
tear-stained and expectant on the garden wall, 
rose up before him. 

“Let’s have the money-box,” he said, stop- 
ping short. 

“It’s upstairs,” answered Aleck, not un- 
kindly; “you’d better scoot. Tommy; “she’ll 
be back directly.” 

“I want the money-box,” repeated Tommy 
doggedly, though with a fearful eye on the 
front door, and Aleck ran upstairs to get it. 
The minute he had gone seemed an eternity, 
and if there were such a thing as a Victoria 
Cross for Third Form boys — and I don’t see 
why there shouldn’t be — Tommy certainly de- 
served to get it. At the end of a minute Alex- 
ander returned with the coveted object, and 
then indeed Tommy scooted, the jingle of the 


The Knight and the Lady 133 

coins in the money-box accompanying his 
flight. 

And when very shortly after the cook re- 
turned in company with Constable Robbins, 
she found, curious to relate, that Alexander had 
scooted likewise. I think we may forgive Con- 
stable Robbins if he infringed the police regu- 
lations to the extent of partaking of a glass 
of ale before returning to his beat. 


CHAPTER IX 


SUSANNAH 

rpoMMY found Susannah still sitting alone on 
the garden wall, but no signs of William. 
He held up the money-box triumphantly as he 
approached. “Oh, I am so glad,” she ex- 
claimed gratefully. “I was so ’fraid you 
hadn’t,” and she clasped it eagerly, as he held 
it out to her. “It was a present from a friend, 
you see,” she added, by way of explanation. 

“He hasn’t hurt it,” said Tommy. “Didn’t 
I tell you he was only foolin’?” 

“He’s a horrid boy, that Aleck,” said Sus- 
annah severely; “my mother says he wants a 
good thrashing. I don’t like him a bit. Weren’t 
you afraid of being caught?” 

“Oh, no,” said Tommy airily. “I wanted to 
get it for you, you see,” he added with a slight 
blush. “I wanted you to stop crying.” 

“I’m \m-mensely obliged,” said Susannah, 
who made a special study of elder sisters’ polite 
conversational phrases. “I think it was most 
kind.” 

“I’d do it again any time,” said Tommy 
eagerly; “really I would.” 

134 


Susannah 


135 


‘‘Thank you very much,” answered Susannah 
simply. There was a slight pause in the con- 
versation. 

“Did Billy go in?” asked Tommy at last. 

Susannah nodded. “He said he was in a 
great hurry, and he told me to show you the 
way out by the back,” she said. “Perhaps I’d 
better now.” 

'Tm not in a hurry,” said Tommy. “I think 
it’s very jolly here. Don’t you?” This was 
only partially true, I should explain, as he 
was all the while painfully conscious of the 
possibility of a rear attack on the part of the 
cook and Constable Robbins. 

Susannah looked doubtful. “I’m afraid I 
mustn’t stop,” she said. “ ’Cos we haven’t been 
intro jooced. My sister says you must never 
talk to people when you haven’t been intro- 
jooced.” 

“Oh, but we have/* answered Tommy. 
“Billy intro jooced us.” 

“Did he?” said Susannah. “I don’t re- 
member.” 

“My name’s Tommy Browne,” said Tommy. 

“Mine’s Susannah Mary May,” said his 
companion. 

“It’s a very nice name,” said Tommy. “I 
like it.” 


136 


Susannah 


“I’m glad you like it,” said Susannah. “Most 
people don’t. There’s a girl in our class says 
it’s the silliest name she’s ever heard.” 

“Stoopid thing!” replied Tommy, with ex- 
aggerated scorn. Susannah was obviously 
gratified. 

“If I had a sister,” said Tommy stoutly, “I 
should like her to be called Susannah.” 

“Would you really?'^ said his companion, 
who obviously regarded this guileless piece of 
flattery as the statement of a well-reasoned 
opinion. “Haven’t you got any sister?” 

“No,” said Tommy, “nor any brothers, 
either.” Again there was a pause. 

“Please, I must go,” said Susannah at 
length. “Mother wouldn’t like it.” 

“All right,” said Tommy, getting down 
from the wall. “I wouldn’t get you in a row 
for anything. But you’ll show me the way out, 
won’t you?” He held out his hand, and she 
took it trustfully. “It’s quite easy,” she said. 
“It’s that door over there, but perhaps I’d bet- 
ter show you how it opens.” 

So they went hand in hand down the garden 
path. Tommy racking his brains for something 
nice to say, but not finding it. “Shall I give 
you the money?” said Susannah, breaking the 
silence. 


Susannah 187 

“Give it to Billy,” said Tommy, “but I’ll see 
that you get it back all right.” 

“Thank you very much,” said Susannah. 
“I want it back dreadfully badly, really I do.” 

“When do you want it by?” asked Tommy. 

“I want it by the beginning of the holidays,” 
she answered. “Billy said it was to keep him 
out of getting into trouble, and I don’t want 
Willie to get into trouble, though he doesn’t 
mind getting into it. Do you mind?” 

“Not a straw,” said Tommy jauntily. 

“Nor does Willie,” she answered with ob- 
vious pride; “he doesn’t turn a hair.” 

“I don’t, either,” said Tommy. 

“But I do want it back most dreadfully,^^ 
she said with a wistful look at her companion. 
“I know Willie’ll try to pay it back, but he 
only gets fourpence a week. What do you 
get?” 

“I get sixpence,” said Tommy with a blush, 
and wishing that his income were larger; “but 
I’ll get it for you somehow, I promise I will.” 

“I’m really grateful,” said Susannah with 
sincerity, and at this point they reached the 
door. 

“It opens like this,” she said, and proceeded 
to manipulate the latch. “Now I must really 
say good-by.” 


Susannah 


188 


“Good-by,” said Tommy, blushing; “I say, 
won’t you call me ‘Tommy’?” 

“I don’t think my sister would,” said Sus- 
annah shyly; “she’d say it wasn’t lady- 
like.” 

“Oh, no, she wouldn’t,” said unscrupulous 
Tommy. “She’d call me ‘Tommy’ right off. 
I know she would.” 

“Good-by, Tommy,” said Susannah, reas- 
sured, and holding out her hand. “I’m — ^very 
— glad — to have — made your — acquaintance,” 
she added with careful correctness, as one re- 
peating a sacred formula. 

“S’m I,” answered Tommy, taking the little 
hand and holding it for a minute. “I’ll — I’ll 
never forget you, really I won’t.” Then he 
turned away suddenly and walked off very 
fast, and only remembered at the corner that 
he ought to have raised his cap. It was too 
late then, for the door was closed and Susannah 
had disappeared. But all the way home he 
thought of Susannah, and wondered why it was 
that some boys have all the luck, and are 
blessed with little sisters to be kind to them. 
But the curious thing, it seems to me, is that 
the boys who have this luck so often don’t seem 
to know they’ve got it. 

The events we have been narrating in the last 


Susannah 


189 


two chapters had occupied so much time that 
Tommy found there was only just enough left 
for him to get home and hack to school again 
for night studies. Ordinarily, as we have seen, 
he prepared his lessons at home, hut he some- 
times went back to school when Mrs. Clemen- 
tina was out for the evening, or when there 
was some special work to be done, so he did not 
anticipate any difficulty in obtaining the neces- 
sary permission. However, when he reached 
Laburnam Villa (did I mention that that was 
the name of Mrs. Clementina’s residence?) he 
found that his mother had been out to tea and 
had not yet returned. This information was 
imparted to him by Mrs. Golightly, officially 
described as a ‘‘cook — housekeeper,” but in re- 
ality a great many other things as well. In 
fact, Mrs. Golightly ran Laburnam Villa 
single-handed, but as we shall not see very 
much of her, I need not dwell at any great 
length upon her character and tastes, beyond 
saying that she was of a somewhat melancholy 
temperament. Her relations with Tommy 
were largely colored by the subject of boots, 
Mrs. Golightly holding that boys in Tommy’s 
position ought to black their own boots, and 
Tommy favoring the opposite opinion. A. 
trivial matter, you will say, yet one, I assure 


140 


Susannah 


you, which admits of quite exciting compli- 
cations. I could write a whole story on Mrs. 
Golightly and Tommy’s boots. 

His mother’s absence was a distinctly awk- 
ward circumstance, for it involved the necessity 
of taking French leave, always a more or less 
doubtful proceeding. However, he told Mrs. 
Golightly boldly that he was going back to 
school, and asked her to let his mother know. 
He should have let it stop there and gone, but 
instead of that he weakly added, “I don’t sup- 
pose she’ll be wanting me, will she?” Mrs. Go- 
lightly was one of those people who, if you let 
them think you want one answer, always try 
to give the other, and said immediately that she 
was pretty sure Mrs. Clementina would be 
wanting him. “Well, I’m going anyhow,” said 
Tommy, and bounced indignantly out of the 
room. 

He went upstairs to get his contribution to 
the blackboard fund, and found to his annoy- 
ance that the treasury contained only four and 
ninepence. Then he went into the study and 
saw the hated Bo Peep costume lying ready for 
use on the model platform, and had to stifle 
his conscience. He banged the front door so 
hard that Mrs. Golightly in the kitchen gave 
a start and pricked her finger, and sighed 


Susannah 


141 


deeply. She was darning a tablecloth at the 
time. 

The farther he went the more uneasy his 
conscience grew. He knew that his mother had 
sometimes to get her drawings sent off by a par- 
ticular post, and perhaps she wanted to finish 
the Bo Peep things that evening. Again, he 
knew quite well she liked to have him there to 
talk to ; she always said she could work better 
with somebody in the room. But, on the other 
hand, if he didn’t go he was pretty sure that 
Aleck would seize the excuse for backing out, 
and in that case even if William persevered 
alone, which was not very likely, Susannah’s 
five shillings would hardly be accepted as an 
adequate act of restitution. As he was turn- 
ing over these perplexing thoughts he saw, at 
the other end of the street he was just entering, 
his mother approaching. There was no diffi- 
culty in seeing Mrs. Clementina, for she was 
very large (I don’t know whether I mentioned 
the fact before), and was dressed at the pres- 
ent moment in a lavender-colored dress, with 
some sort of black puffs stuck about on it. 
This, however, is not a scientific description of 
the dress, and if you think it sounds curious, I 
may tell you that people who understand such 
things admired it very much. When she saw 


142 


Susannah 


Tommy (you will remember that she had good 
eyesight) she began to wave her parasol by way 
of greeting. Tommy stopped, for one moment 
he hesitated, and then bolted down a side street 
as hard as he could run. I am glad to be able 
to say that he felt thoroughly ashamed of him- 
self by the time he got to the corner. All the 
same, he did not go back. 

Why did he do it, I wonder? Because you 
must admit that it was a very unkind, unduti- 
ful, unbecoming, altogether reprehensible 
thing to do, and Tommy was not a bad boy, by 
any means ; rather the reverse, if anything. He 
did it on the spur of the moment, feeling, some- 
how, that escape would be hopeless if once that 
magnificent figure in lavender and black got 
hold of him, and feeling just then that he must 
escape. But though he did not go back, he felt 
exceedingly unhappy all the rest of the way to 
school, and made up his mind that if he could 
catch William and Alexander before the be- 
ginning of night studies he would try to get 
them to take the money and manage the busi- 
ness without him, and go straight home and 
say he was sorry. For in the bottom of his 
heart he knew that he must have hurt his 
mother’s feelings, and he was very fond of her 
and very sorry. 


Susannah 


143 


As luck would have it, he met his two ac- 
complices just outside the college gates. They 
were holding a heated altercation, and William 
especially was scarlet in the face with sup- 
pressed indignation. Before he could make 
his suggestion, in fact before he could say any- 
thing at all, William had turned to him and 
explained his grievance. “Aleck says he won’t 
let us have his five bob unless we all three stop 
and put it on the desk,” he burst out. “He’s 
doing it because he wants to get me in a row. 
He knows I’ll catch it if I get in after Mat, 
that’s what he’s doing it for.” 

“I’m not,” answered Aleck, with virtuous 
calm. “It isn’t my plan. I think it’s a silly, 
foolish plan, and I’m only doin’ it because you 
and Tommy want to. I don’t see why I should 
take all the risk as well.” 

“Nobody wants you to take all the risk,” 
shouted William. “Tommy’ll stop, won’t you, 
Tommy?” 

“Billy’ll stop, too,” said Aleck in his most 
irritating voice, “or it’s off so far as I’m con- 
cerned.” They both looked to Tommy for con- 
firmation. 

“I suppose we’ll all have to stop,” said 
Tommy mournfully, seeing his hope of getting 
home vanish like smoke. “It’ll only take a 


144 


Susannah 


second, Billy, and you can sprint home 
after.” • 

“Oh, I dessay,” answered William sarcas- 
tically. “That sounds all right enough, but in 
things like this you never know what’s going 
to turn up.” 

And indeed you never do. Certainly, if the 
Black Brothers had known, they would have 
stopped and reflected once and again and yet 
again before they embarked upon this well- 
meant but misguided attempt to effect restitu- 
tion and put things straight. For we have 
come now, I regret to say, to a period of un- 
mixed and unmitigated calamity. The thunder- 
clouds are gathering, the gloom is deepening, 
the tragedy, in short, is about to commence. 
When in real tragedy the point is reached, and 
the virtuous merchant, or whoever it is, is about 
to be murdered by the unmitigated villain, they 
turn down the footlights and make the or- 
chestra play a slow and creepy sort of music. 
These resources are denied the story-teller, but 
it is a fact that as they entered the college 
portals a street singer in a neighboring street 
could be heard wailing out an exceedingly 
mournful ditty. “Soon — shall — you — an’ — I 
— be ly-hi-hin” — the words could he heard dis- 
tinctly — “heach — within — ’is — narrow — bed.” 


Susannah 


145 


0 

It may have been this melody, or their 
own private anxieties, which made each of 
the Black Brothers feel a sudden sinking of 
the heart as they entered with the heedless 
crowd. 


CHAPTER X 


NIGHT STUDIES 

rilEN minutes were allowed after the doors 
were opened for the collection of books 
and other necessary articles, and at the end of 
the time all had to be in the study place. The 
Black Brothers made use of the interval for 
arranging a rapid plan of campaign. It was 
settled on the suggestion of Aleck, who, in 
spite of his opposition to the plan, at once be- 
gan to take the lead, that they should stay 
behind in the big study hall at the end of the 
night studies, hide there till every one had 
cleared off, then slip out and up to their own 
class room, put the money on the desk, and 
slip down to the big door and so home. The 
big door was closed a quarter of an hour after 
the end of night studies, but most of the boys 
had cleared off long before then. There was 
absolutely no danger of being locked in, as the 
porter would always let you out by the side 
door, being a remarkably accommodating and 
good-tempered porter. The only things that 
remained to be done were the writing of the 
explanatory letter, and the discovery of some 
146 


Night Studies 


147 


sort of receptacle for the money. As Su- 
sannah’s contribution was largely in copper and 
threepenny bits, and Tommy’s likewise, except 
for a solitary two-shilling piece, the combined 
sum weighed more than a trifle and occupied 
considerable space. It was decided to borrow 
a cap from the master’s room and pour the 
whole into the crown of it. 

The letter of explanation gave more trouble. 
Each of the three conspirators wrote one dur- 
ing the first half hour of night studies and 
passed it on for approval to the others, and 
got it back with unfavorable comments ap- 
pended. William’s was the simplest. “This 
is to pay for the blackboard. Please let the 
boys out,” it ran, and it came back with “No” 
(Aleck) and “too short” (Tommy) scribbled 
on by way of criticism. Tommy’s was more 
apologetic. It read as follows: “This money 
( 14 / 9 ) is to pay for greasing the blackboard, 
for which we are very sorry for spoiling, and 
won’t do it again. Some more will be put if 
wanted. Please don’t keep the boys in any 
more.” It came back with “Kiddish” from 
Aleck and “Gives the show away” from 
William. Aleck made a not altogether suc- 
cessful attempt at dignity. “The sum here 
present,” it stated, “is to pay for the damage 


148 


Night Studies 


(if any) done to alleged blackboard. In an- 
ticipation that you won’t keep the class in any 
more, not being guilty. Signed, The Perpe- 
trators.” It came back with, “Beastly raw” 
(William) and “Yes, it is” (Tommy). 

As it was impossible to discuss the matter 
at length (there was a fairly watchful master 
hovering about on the horizon, for one thing), 
each of the three printed his own in capital 
letters on a sheet of ordinary exercise book 
paper, so as to have it ready at the end, in case 
it was wanted. They were still toiling at this 
task, all three of them, when an interruption 
occurred. All the boys in the hall, instead of 
bending over their respective tasks as they had 
been a moment before, were now suddenly 
found to be sitting bolt upright and listening 
to a voice in the gallery outside. Even the 
presiding master ceased to hover and stood still 
and listened. It was still a good way off, and 
yet no one had the smallest difficulty in recog- 
nizing whose it was, as there was only one 
voice like it, at any rate in that school, and 
it possessed the curious property of penetrat- 
ing everywhere, making all who heard it think 
of their shortcomings and deficiencies. It was 
the voice of Dr. Whales, head master of the 
school. A look of rapt attention was on every 


Night Studies 


149 


face, and hearing powers were obviously being 
strained to the uttermost as the voice ceased 
to be a mere distant rumble of thunder and 
became articulate. “Who was in there last? 
Who was in there last? It’s perfectly mon- 
strous! I’ll put a stop to it! I’ll certainly 
put a stop to it!” These and other like ex- 
pressions were being shot off with the speed 
and vigor of bullets from a Maxim gun or an 
automatic repeating pistol as Dr. Whales came 
rapidly down the gallery, pouring in a raking 
broadside as he went, presumably upon his com- 
panion or companions, whose presence was 
otherwise undiscoverable. 

The door of the study hall flew open with 
terrific violence and disclosed the expected ap- 
parition. Dr. Whales was evidently in a state 
of considerable indignation. His mortar- 
board was stuck at the back of his head, and 
his very gown seemed to vibrate in harmony 
with his mood. “I want to speak to the boys 
for a minute, Mr. Noldin,” he projected rather 
than spoke, as he entered the room. Mr. Nol- 
din (the master who had been hovering) at 
once resigned his command, and Dr. Whales 
strode up to the desk at the end and mounted 
it. Through the open door could be seen a 
most miscellaneous group of spectators, evi- 


150 


Night Studies 


dently a portion of the escorting crowd. Be- 
sides a number of boys, looking extremely 
scared, there was Mr. Bowling, one of the 
chemistry masters, Henry, the porter, and 
Mrs. Curtiss, one of the women who swept 
the class rooms. Dr. Whales’ indignation 
always exercised a sort of magnetic attrac- 
tion. 

All the boys had stood up as the head master 
entered, but as he mounted to the desk he made 
so vigorous a gesture that they sat down with 
a suddenness and rapidity which suggested a 
regiment of toy soldiers being bowled over. 
“Now,” said Dr. Whales — ''now, boys, I’ve 
something to say to you.” There is no word in 
the language sufficiently strong to express the 
intense and expectant silence which followed 
this announcement. 

“I was taking out a class this evening,” con- 
tinued Dr. Whales, dividing his discourse, as 
usual into incisive phrases, “for mathematics. 
I had to use the blackboard, the Upper Sixth 
blackboard. When I attempted to use that 
blackboard I found that some mischievous boy 
or other had been at it. It was coated all over 
with candle grease.” 

Every one was staring hard at Dr. Whales, 
which explains why the obvious embarrassment 


Night Studies 151 

of two at least of the Black Brothers passed 
unnoticed. 

“This is the second time within two days,” 
continued the doctor, “that this silly and dis- 
gusting trick has been played. Whether the 
offenders are the same in both cases I can’t at 
present say. I should hope there are not many 
boys in the school capable of such a gutter- 
snipe antic. It’s worse than mischievous and 
dirty, it’s positively wicked. Wantonly to de- 
stroy other people’s property is much the same 
as stealing. It is stealing, though probably 
the silly boys responsible hardly realize that.” 

“I am told,” he went on, “that a whole class 
has been punished for two days running on 
account of the first of these two cases. I don’t 
care to say what I think of a boy who lets his 
companions suffer because he hasn’t pluck 
enough to own up and take his just punish- 
ment. It is difficult to imagine anything 
meaner. I don’t know whether the offenders 
are here to-night, but if they are, let me tell 
them that, for their own sakes, they’d better 
own up before they go home. They won’t 
escape the punishment they have so richly de- 
served, but, on the whole, it will be better for 
them. Sooner or later they will certainly be 
brought to justice. I shall place the matter, as 


152 


Night Studies 

one affecting the reputation of the school, in 
the hands of the monitors and the Upper Sixth. 
I may tell them a distinct clue has been dis- 
covered. Now you may go on with your 
work.” With one final glare (I should have 
said that the penetrating glances he shot in all 
directions was always one of the most impres- 
sive features of Dr. Whales’ orations), he left 
the desk and stalked out of the room, pick- 
ing up as he departed the class whose mathe- 
matical studies had been so unfortunately dis- 
turbed. 

One result of his harangue had been that 
three pieces of exercise paper bearing a careful 
inscription in capital letters disappeared in the 
shape of three crumpled balls into three pock- 
ets. They would have been torn up into small 
fragments but for the fear of attracting atten- 
tion. Dr. Whales’ departure left the breasts 
of those three ingenious authors a prey to the 
direst consternation, a consternation so over- 
whelming that they did not even venture to 
look at each other, much less at any one else, 
during the rest of the time devoted to night 
studies. They remained with faces glued to 
their books, absorbed, to all appearances, in the 
task before them, yet for all this apparent 
earnestness, making very little progress. For 


Night Studies 


153 


the situation, which before had been difficult 
and dangerous, yet not without hope of a 
peaceful solution, had somehow suddenly be- 
come one of simply appalling horror and black- 
ness, admitting, apparently, of no hope what- 
ever. The path, which an hour before had 
promised to lead out of the wood, had suddenly 
plunged them into a ravine full of dangerous 
dragons and pitfalls of every description. This 
is my way of looking at it, not theirs. They 
were principally occupied in wondering what 
the others would want to do, vividly conscious, 
all three of them, of a peculiar cold feeling in 
the region of the stomach, which seemed to 
extend to other members with a sort of icy 
shoot as one or other of Dr. Whales’ menacing 
remarks recurred to their minds. 

The time slipped by with wonderful rapid- 
ity. The end came, night prayers were said, 
and the boys packed up their books and de- 
parted. But the three Black Brothers sat on, 
ostensibly packing up their books like the rest, 
but really waiting for the coast to be cleared 
enough for them to speak to one another on 
the all-important subject of their course of 
action. With a parting, “Come, be quick, be 
quick,” Mr. Noldin departed like the rest, and 
a moment later all the lights went out. The 


154 


Night Studies 

boy entrusted with this office (the tap was in 
the corridor outside) evidently thought that 
the room was clear. 

The darkness brought with it at first a dis- 
tinct sense of relief, for they had all three been 
suffering from a feeling that every one must be 
looking at them. “They think weVe gone,” 
whispered Aleck; “we can talk now, all right.” 

“Let’s get under cover, case they* turn it 
up,” whispered William. It was a very sub- 
dued and awe-struck whisper indeed. They got 
up and groped their way carefully to a sort of 
alcove which extended along the room behind 
the master’s desk. A dim and ghostly light 
streamed through the six long windows. 
“S’pose they lock the door,” whispered 
Tommy. 

“They never do,” answered Aleck. “I’ve 
been back lots of times to get books after the 
lights were out. It hasn’t even got a key.” 
They proceeded accordingly to take cover. 

“Well?” said William. 

“Well?” answered Aleck. There was a 
pause. Something in the room creaked loudly 
and made them all jump. 

“We’d better own up, like he said,” said 
Tommy suddenly, in a very curious sort of 
voice. “P’r’aps if we offer ’im the money he 


Night Studies 155 

won’t send in any bills. We’d b-better get it 
over.” 

“Tommy’s blubbing,” said William. 

“Tommy’s a silly, kiddish little fool,” said 
Aleck in a tone of great irritation. “Even 
s’posing we have to own up, what’s the good 
of going when he’s in a tearing rage like to- 
night?” 

“He said we were thieves said Tommy, 
whose distressful condition was no longer open 
to question. “We d-didn’t mean to be th- 
thieves.” 

They had grown accustomed to the gloom 
by this time, and they could see him sorrow- 
fully mopping his eyes. 

“Don’t cry. Tommy,” said William kindly. 
“We aren’t thieves really, and if we are, we’ll 
pay it back.” He put his arm round Tommy’s 
shoulder, but Tommy refused to be comforted, 
and went on sobbing for all he was worth. 

“It’s no good stoppin’ here and watching 
Tommy blubbing like a silly, blitherin’ pre- 
paratory kid,” said Alexander at last. “S’pose 
we go on with the plan, just the same. Even 
if they do find out, it won’t do any harm. 
D’you think Matt’ll split now, Billy?” 

“No,” said Billy, “ ’cos he doesn’t know for 
absolutely certain, for one thing. But he’ll 


156 Night Studies 

make things pretty hot for me, I can tell you 
that!’’ 

“Well, then, I don’t see really that we’re 
any worse off than before,” said Aleck, who 
did not seem to see much in this last argument, 
“unless he’s really got a clue — oh, do shut up 
blubbing. Tommy, and behave sensibly; what 
on earth is the good of carrying on like a little 
kid? Did anybody spot you in the Upper 
Sixth class room?” 

“I c-can’t help it,” sobbed Tommy. “N-no- 
body saw me.” 

“He said we didn’t know it was like stealing. 
Tommy,” said William soothingly. “And he 
was in a most tearing rage.” 

“ ’Course he was,” said Alexander; “it’s a 
most ridic’lus idea, as anybody but a little soft 
like Tommy ’d see. We’ll just go and stick it 
on the Coon’s desk like we meant to, and you’ll 
see it’ll be all right. Not that it isn’t a silly 
plan, all the same,” he added, with an eye to 
consistency. 

‘'You can’t talk!” retorted William. “Whose 
plan was it to grease the Upper Sixth black- 
board?” 

“If we stand here jawing much longer,” said 
Aleck in a tone of remonstrance, “the big 
door’ll be locked, and we shall have to go to 


Night Studies 


157 


Henry to get out, and that really will be a 
clue. So if we’re going to, we’d better scoot, 
only don’t make more row than you can help.” 

So they quitted their shelter and groped their 
way on tiptoe to the door at the other end of 
the room. William was the first to get there, 
and after fumbling about a little he found the 
handle and tried to open it. He turned it first 
one way and then the other, he pushed and 
pulled and shook it, quietly at first, but then 
without any regard to secrecy. The door ob- 
stinately refused to open. 

“What’re you making such a fuss about?” 
said Aleck angrily (it was a secret fear inside 
him that made him angry) ; “it opens quite 
easily.” 

“Does it?” said William, giving up the 
handle; “you try.” 

Alexander seized it first in one hand, then 
with both, and performed the same evolutions 
as William, with even more vigorous disregard 
of secrecy, but with the same want of success. 
“It’s got stuck somehow,” he said at last, lean- 
ing against it and giving it a more than ever 
vigorous shake. 

“Let Tommy try,” said William, with a faint 
hope that there might he an element of luck in 
the matter. Things do unlock for some people 


158 


Night Studies 


when they won’t for others in a most curious 
way. Tommy tried, but the door still held 
fast. 

“It’s got jammed somehow,” said Aleck in 
a voice that tried hard to be like its ordinary 
self, but did not quite succeed. “S’pose we 
all push against it together.” 

“It’s not jammed, you silly id jut,” said 
William miserably, giving expression at last to 
the fears of all three. “It’s well locked, and 
it’s no good pretending it isn’t.” 

“It canH be,” said Aleck, trying to speak 
with a confidence he was far from feeling; “I 
tell you it’s never locked. There isn’t even a 
key.” 

“Well, they’ve raised one somehow, ’cos any 
one but a born fool can see it is,” said William. 
“I s’pose we’ll have to shout now and make 
Henry hear.” 

“Wait and see,” said Aleck. “Got a match?” 
Neither of them had. The darkness, which had 
been at first rather welcome, now began to be 
intolerable. 

“Well, I must do it without, then,” said 
Aleck, and they could hear him fumbling and 
scratching in a mysterious way at the door. 

“What on earth’re you fooling at?” asked 
William irritably. “If we wait much longer 


159 


I 

Night Studies 

Henry’ll be gone, and we’ll be higeously late 
as it is.” 

“I’m picking the lock,” answered Aleck; 
“it’s what burglars do, and it’s quite easy.” 
F or one brief moment a gleam of hope lighted 
up in the hearts of the other two. Like so many 
of Alexander’s plans, it looked at first sight 
plausible and brilliant. For at least five min- 
utes they stood patiently by listening to the 
mysterious scratching noise, while Alexander 
broke the point off three blades of his pocket 
knife in succession, in his vain efforts to move 
the obstinate tongue of iron which barred their 
way to freedom. 

“Can’t you manage it?” asked Tommy 
anxiously at last. 

“I can’t make the beastly thing hold,” an- 
swered AJeck, with an anxious quaver in his 
voice. 

“Look here, Aleck,” said William desper- 
ately, “I’m not going to stick any more of it. 
I’m going to shout for Henry.” 

“All right, shout away,” answered Aleck, 
and he had scarcely spoken before he gave a 
shout himself, or perhaps it would be more ac- 
curately described as a squeal. The mutilated 
pocket knife had revenged itself by closing 
with a snap on the fleshy part of his hand just 


160 


Night Studies 


under the thumb. It would have been a nasty 
cut at any time, but coming in the dark, and 
on top of all his other misfortunes, it quite 
broke down what remained of Alexander’s for- 
titude. No despised infant of the preparatory 
class could have wept more whole-heartedly or 
with less thought of concealment. 

The other two were, on the whole, sympa- 
thetic — considering the danger of their situa- 
tion, extraordinarily so. They lent him their 
handkerchiefs to bandage up the wounded 
member, Alexander moaning the while and 
saying it was the place that gave you lock-jaw, 
and he was sure to get it. At least another 
precious five minutes was spent on this char- 
itable task before William recalled them to the 
actualities of the situation and the necessity 
of shouting for Henry if they weren’t going 
to miss him altogether. He went to the door 
at once and shouted through the keyhole, but 
though he strained his lungs to the uttermost, 
the result was not impressive. The bigness of 
the room seemed to swallow it up. 

They listened hard for Henry’s hoped-for 
footstep, but a deathly stillness reigned every- 
where. The darkness seemed suddenly to grow 
thicker and more appalling. They found 
themselves again and again looking fur- 


Night Studies 161 

lively over their shoulders into the gloom be- 
hind. 

“Let’s give another,” whispered Tommy, 
“both together.” 

“Hen-ry — HEN-RY,” they yelled, at the 
same time kicking the door and shaking the 
handle. Alexander, sitting huddled on a bench 
just behind, shuddered at the noise, it sounded 
so thin and ghostly. Again they listened, and 
again there was no answering footstep, only a 
deepened sense of loneliness and abandonment. 

“I b’lieve he’s gone home, Tommy,” whis- 
pered William in an awe-struck whisper. “Oh, 
what’ll we do?” 

Tommy for answer gave a kick at the door, 
but he hadn’t the courage to give another 
shout. If you have ever tried what it feels like 
to shout in an empty house at night you will 
know that it needs some courage. 

“Let’s open one of the windows,” he whis- 
pered after a pause. “P’raps we can make 
some one hear that way.” He started off in 
the direction of the first of the six and William 
followed him. Aleck came, too, not liking to 
be left alone. 

They got the bottom part of the window 
open without much difficulty. Outside was a 
courtyard entirely surrounded by college build- 


162 


Night Studies 


ings, dark and silent as the grave at this hour, 
for the house in which the masters lived was 
on the other side in quite a diiferent part. 
There is no deader-looking thing in creation 
than a blank, curtainless window, and four 
rows of them stood there staring at our un- 
fortunate captives. 

“Shall we give a shout?” whispered Tommy, 
and William whispered back a rather faint- 
hearted assent. Aleck in the background put 
his fingers in his ears. 

That was the last shout they gave, for the 
result was so weird and ghastly that they had 
not the courage to repeat it. The courtyard 
echoed it back, as a sort of hollow moan, and 
something at the end of the room seemed to 
move. 

“What was that?” whispered Tommy; 
“didn’t you hear?” 

“It’s only the wind,” answered William, 
whose teeth were chattering, all the same, but 
that may have been partly due to the cold- 
ness of the night air. Alexander drew closer 
to them. He was shivering all over. 

They leaned out of the window and listened, 
but without much hope. The distant tinkle 
of a tram bell and the sound of noises in the 
street on the other side of the building brought 


Night Studies 


163 


a faint feeling of consolation; it was at least 
a sign of life, but before they had time to bene- 
fit by it there came, borne on the wind, which 
seemed to be freshening, the lugubrious 
voice of (presumably) the same street singer 
whose ill-timed melody had accompanied their 
entry on this fatal night. 

“Days — an’ mo-ments quick-lee fli-i-in’,” he 
wailed. 

“Blehend — the li-vin’, — with — ther — dead. 
Su-hoon shall you, — an’ I, be li-hi-hin, 
Heach — with-hin — ’is — nar-row bed.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE TRAGEDY BEGINS 

rp HE voice of the singer was, so to speak, the 
last straw. Alexander began to sob hys- 
terically, and Tommy and William felt a chill 
pass right through them and out by the roots 
of their hair. And I think we must in justice 
admit that it was a rather trying situation for 
three small boys to find themselves in, all alone 
and with apparently a long night of horror 
before them. 

‘‘Oh, do shut the window,” whispered Aleck 
at last. “I c-can’t stand it, and I know I’m 
going to get lock-jaw. I can feel a s-sort of 
p-pain in my m-mouth even now.” 

They pulled the windows to with a bang, and 
went hopelessly back to the bench, and sat 
huddled together so as to keep warm. 

“It’s a b-beastly sort of death,” continued 
Aleck. ‘‘They p-pull out your f-front teeth, 
and pour things down your throat and then 
you d-die.” 

“Some p-people say it’s a good thing to d-die 
young,” said William; “it gets you off such a 
lot of purgatory.” He meant it well, but only 
164 


165 


The Tragedy Begins 

added to Alexander’s distress. ‘‘I d-don’t want 
to d-die,” he sobbed. 

‘‘Haven’t you b-been to your j-jooties, 
Aleck,” said William gravely; “ ’cos you’d bet- 
ter make an act of contrition if you haven’t.” 

“I p-promised Aggie to g-go last Sunday,” 
sobbed Aleck. “But I d-didn’t get up in 
t-time.” The noise in the black depths behind 
them occurred again as he spoke, and made 
them all shudder and draw closer still to one an- 
other. It might have been only the wind, but 
it sounded ghastly enough to be anything hor- 
rible that you can imagine getting into a study 
place at night. 

“There’s n-nothing there,” said William, 
whose teeth chattered in spite of himself ; “there 
can't be anything there.” 

“N-no,” answered Tommy, trying to follow 
this bold lead, “of c-course there isn’t.” Aleck’s 
hopeless collapse made them both feel braver. 

“Look here, Aleck,” said William with a 
courage that I can only describe as heroic, “you 
st-stop blubbin’ and m-make an act of con- 
trition, and I’ll go down to the other end to 
show you there’s nothing.” You may judge 
how far gone Aleck was from the fact that he 
meekly agreed to this proposition. William 
rose to go on his perilous mission. 


166 


The Tragedy Begins 

“Say it properly, kneeling down,” said 
William, “and Tommy’ll stop with you.” 
Aleck obediently went down on his knees, and 
William started off and disappeared in the 
darkness. He kept up a conversation with 
Tommy as he went, both making vigorous 
efforts to keep their voices steady. Once he 
banged up against a desk with a clatter which 
made them all jump. Aleck was still on his 
knees making his act of contrition. 

“What comes after ‘the remembrance of 
them is g-grievous to us,’ ” he whispered to 
Tommy, and Tommy, after a hurried inward 
repetition, whispered back, “The b-burden of 
them is intolerable.” Alexander continued his 
devotions in silence. For some moments no 
sound came from the bold explorer in the 
gloom, who seemed to be standing still. 

“Are you all ri’, Billy?” shouted Tommy, 
who had an uneasy feeling that it somehow 
hadn’t sounded quite like the wind. 

“All ri,” came back rather faintly from the 
blackness. “There’s n-nothing here.” They 
heard him make a step or two forward. 

Then suddenly there was a muffled cry, fol- 
lowed by a loud clatter, and almost before they 
realized it a form emerged out of the darkness 
and William was at their side again. He 


The Tragedy Begins 167 

caught hold of Tommy’s arm and held it 
tight for a minute without speaking. “Oh, 
T-Tommy, there is somethin’ there. Oh, 
what’ll we do,” he gasped. They could hear his 
teeth chattering like castanets, and the noise 
of teeth chattering with fear in the dark is not 
a pretty one, let me tell you. 

Aleck rose suddenly from his knees so fright- 
ened that he left off crying, and even forgot 
about the threatened attack of lock-jaw. 

“It was j-just behind the m-master’s desk,” 
whispered William in terrified tones. “I heard 
suthin’ move quite c-close to me, and then I 
s-saw a g-great white face. Oh, T-Tommy, 
what is it?” 

“What d-did it look like?” asked Tommy. 

“It had b-boots,” said William. “I heard its 
b-boots bang against the desk.” 

They stood for a minute straining their ears, 
but no sound came from the haunted darkness. 
Suddenly Alexander began to giggle hys- 
terically, making a horrid noise something be- 
tween a laugh and a sob. Instinctively they 
felt that it was a danger signal, and William 
gripped him furiously by the arm. “Shut up, 
Aleck,” he hissed out. “Chuck it, you little 
fool!” Alexander subsided onto the bench, 
making inarticulate noises. 


168 The Tragedy Begins 

“Aren’t you s-scared, Tommy?” whispered 
William. 

“Yes,” said Tommy; “terribly.” 

“Will you come with me if I go b-back?” 
asked William. “We’ve got to f-find out 
w-what it is.” 

Tommy looked fearfully into the darkness, 
which the dim outline of the great windows 
served only to intensify. I doubt if in all his 
life his courage will ever be put to a more 
severe test, but he rose to it nobly. “Y-yes, I 
will, Billy,” he whispered. “Let’s hold each 
other’s hands.” 

A feeble wail of protest rose from Aleck, 
imploring them not to leave him, but they 
sternly disregarded it. “You’ll be all ri’ here,” 
said William. “Tommy an’ me’ll see you’re 
al’ ri’.” 

Then they started, with every nerve a- jump 
and hearts beating nineteen to the dozen, on 
their perilous journey. They had not gone 
very far before Aleck began his hysterical 
giggle again. He hoped it would make them 
come back. 

“He’s going dotty, I think,” whispered 
Tommy, who in his heart of hearts hoped that 
William would find in this a reason for relin- 
quishing the enterprise. 


169 


The Tragedy Begins 

‘‘Can’t help it,” said William; “we g-got to 
find out,” and they cautiously continued their 
journey, groping their way along the wall. 

About half way down the room they stopped 
and listened, but the lamentations of Alex- 
ander was the only sound they could hear. 
“Let’s say some p-prayers,” whispered Tommy. 

“I am,” answered William. “I’ve been 
s-saying Hail Marys ever since we s-started.” 

They stopped again at the point where the 
line of windows ceased, and the darkness be- 
came more intense than ever. And they knew 
there was something in it, something alive with 
a great white face and boots. It was pretty 
terrible. 

“Who’s there?” called William as boldly as 
he could manage. There was no answer, but 
just the slightest suspicion of a sound. 

“You’d better speak,” said William, and the 
sound came again more distinctly. They made 
a blind rush forward, cannoned violently into 
the master’s desk, and from thence into the 
alcove behind. Something rose up out of the 
darkness to meet them, and they both fiung 
themselves desperately upon it and came crash- 
ing to the ground. A scream of terror rose 
from Aleck in the distance. 

It was something fairly small, and in the first 


170 The Tragedy Begins 

moments of pain they pummeled it unmerci- 
fully. 

Then they stopped to draw breath. “It’s 
only a kid,” said William, mightily relieved. 

“Let me go, you cads,” came in a faint voice 
from underneath them (they were sitting on 
a prostrate ghost). “You’re st-stiflin’ me.” 

“Who is it?” said William ferociously. “Say 
who it is or I’ll throttle you,” and he groped 
about in the dark for the victim’s throat. 

“It’s me,” came in tones of alarm. “You 
jus’ leave me alone.” 

“It’s Atty, I believe,” said Tommy, who had 
been exploring the person of their captive. “I 
can feel that spiky thing on his watch chain.” 

“Is it you, Atty?” asked William, and Att- 
wood (for it was indeed that mathematical 
genius) gasped a stifled assent. 

“Buck up, Aleck,” shouted Tommy; “it’s 
only young Atty been hiding.” The sound of 
distress from the other end ceased with sur- 
prising suddenness. 

“Let him get up,” said William, “but don’t 
let go his arms.” They rose cautiously from 
the ground, hugging their captive tight. 

“Le’me get my boots,” said Attwood, trying 
to shake himself free. “I left ’em by the 
desk.” 


in 


The Tragedy Begins 

'‘If you don’t keep quiet, Atty,” said Will- 
iam fiercely, with a really masterly grasp of 
the situation, “I’ll stamp on your toe.” This 
demand gave him the first inkling as to the 
explanation of the mystery. The threat sub- 
dued Attwood at once. 

“He must’ve come in after the lights were 
out to spy on us,” said Tommy. “Dirty little 
sneak!” 

“It’s all right,” said William cheerfully; “if 
we’ve got to stop here all night we’ll have 
plenty of time to pay him back. You go an’ 
get his boots. Tommy, and I’ll stamp on his 
toes if he moves.” 

“Le’me go, you cads,” said Attwood, and 
then gave a squeal of pain. It wasn’t really a 
stamp, but a stockinged foot is a terribly vul- 
nerable object. 

.“He’s blubbin’,” said Tommy. “I’m feeling 
if he’s got any matches.” 

“He’ll blub a lot more before we’ve finished 
with him,” said William grimly. “Got any 
matches, sneak?” 

“Yes, he has,” said Tommy joyfully. “I’ve 
found ’em.” He struck one and the light 
cheered them all up immensely. It showed 
Attwood standing on one leg and sobbing with 
pain. It also showed his boots in the back- 


172 The Tragedy Begins 

ground. Tommy immediately gathered them 
up. 

“Give me one,” said William. “Hold out 
your hand, you sneaking spy, and strike an- 
other mateh. Tommy,” he added, for the first 
had just gone out. 

Tommy struck another, and held it up like 
a torch. 

“Hold out your hand,” said William again. 
Attwood hesitated, but a move of his captor’s 
foot brought him, so to speak, to his knees. He 
held out his hand, and William prepared to 
administer punishment. 

“It’s go-got nails in it,” sobbed Attwood, 
and as he spoke the second match went out. At 
the same moment Aleck joined them. 

Tommy struck another. “We mustn’t be 
wasteful,” he said. “There’re only about ten 
more. William aimed a blow at the out- 
stretched hand, and Attwood gave a yelp of 
pain. “If you don’ let me alone,” he sobbed, 
“I’ll tell everybody what a funk you were in. 
And I’ll tell ’em about your greasing the black- 
board.” 

“He’s heardr said Tommy, and once more 
they were in total darkness. 

“If you’ll leave me alone,” said Attwood, 
“I’ll promise not to tell anybody.” 


The Tragedy Begins 173 

‘‘You’ll promise that anyhow,” said William 
savagely, “hut you’ll get a good spanking first, 
young Atty. Bring him back to the door. 
Tommy, and we’ll put ’im over a desk. Tommy 
seized the captive’s arm, and they groped their 
way back to the other end. Alexander fol- 
lowed behind, carrying the boots. 

“There’s the stick they light the gas with,” 
said Alexander, speaking for the first time; 
“we can lam into him with that.” He went to 
the corner where it was kept, and after a little 
groping found it. Tommy struck another 
match. “Golly, it’s got a bit of taper stuck 
on it,” he exclaimed joyfully. “Now we’ll be 
able to see to do it properly.” He lighted the 
taper, and for the first time they were able to 
take a survey of their surroundings. The 
blessed light revealed a fact which they had all 
forgotten, a fact which, by opening out a hope 
of escape, drove even the pleasing thought of 
avenging their wrongs on Attwood, out of 
their heads. For it showed them that the upper 
portion of the partition dividing the.study place 
from the corridor was made of ground glass 
with panes of sufficient size to admit of egress. 

“We might smash a pane,” said Tommy, 
gazing up hopefully. “They’re big enough to 
get through, and there’re lockers on the other 


174 


The Tragedy Begins 


side same as on this.” A row of lockers run- 
ning half way up the wall afforded a convenient 
platform from which the operation could be 
conducted. 

“Come along,” said William excitedly; “lug 
up a desk and I’ll see how thick the glass is.” 
The desk did not take them up sufficiently high, 
but by the aid of the heaven-sent taper they 
found a chair, and with a little manipulation 
got it in a fairly secure position on the top. 
William climbed up, and managed to wriggle 
into a sitting posture on the top of the locker. 

“It’s beastly dusty,” he said. “Give me one 
of Atty’s boots.” 

They handed up a boot and watched him 
carefully as he got onto his knees and prepared 
to deliver a blow. There was a deafening 
crash, and William very nearly lost his balance 
and came tumbling down upon the anxious 
watchers below. But the glass was done for. 
A great hole in the middle of the pane showed 
that escape was now only a matter of time. 

“Look out for your eyes, Billy,” said 
Tommy, but for answer William commenced 
pounding away with the boot at what remained 
of the glass. In a very short time he had 
knocked it off clean to the woodwork, all except 
the corners, which didn’t matter. He put his 


175 


The Tragedy Begins 

hand cautiously through the black square and 
groped about. ‘‘There’s lockers, all right, on 
the other side,” he said. “It’ll be quite easy.” 

He brushed the shattered glass aside with his 
cap, wriggled cautiously through the hole feet 
first, and disappeared, all except his head. 
“How much drop is it?” he asked anxiously. 

“A goodish bit,” said Tommy. “You’d bet- 
ter let yourself down gradually.” William had 
slowly disappeared from view, and a moment 
later a loud crash revealed the fact that he had 
reached the fioor of the corridor. He had per- 
formed the last part of the journey more 
quickly than he intended. 

Tommy clambered up and peered through 
the hole. “Are you all ri’, Billy?” he asked 
anxiously. 

“I’ve ripped my coat,” came back in an awe- 
struck voice from the depths below.” 

“Atty wants his boot,” said Tommy, whose 
mind was set on greater things. “Shall I let 
him have it?” 

“Don’t you,” answered the voice from be- 
low.. “Keep it, case he tries to play the fool. 
It feels a most hijeous tear.” 

“Look out; I’m chucking it down,” said 
Tommy, and a second later the boot fell with 
a resounding bang at William’s feet. Tommy 


176 The Tragedy Begins 

disappeared and was replaced a moment later 
by Alexander. 

“Mind how you come,” said William from 
below; “there’s a nail or su’thin’ stickin’ out. 
I’ve ripped my coat right open.” 

Alexander paused. “We’d better cut the 
taper in two,” he said; “it’s pretty long, and 
you can have one hit down there.” He pro- 
ceeded at once to put this statesmanlike project 
into execution, and presently his head ap- 
peared through the opening. He wriggled 
cautiously half way through, and then, assisted 
by Tommy in the rear, managed to hand one 
of the lighted ends down to William. He did 
not hand it, exactly, for the distance was too 
great, and he had to drop it, but the faithful 
taper still remained alight. William gave a 
genuine groan of distress. “It’s ripped the 
whole way down,” he said. 

“Look out, I’m coming,” said Alexander, 
and a moment later his legs appeared over the 
edge. William steered him clear of the nail, 
and he managed the drop skilfully. Attwood 
came next with one boot on, and he also 
alighted without accident. Tommy came last, 
and ripped all the buttons off his waistcoat, 
but he was too preoccupied to take much notice 
of the disaster at the moment. His whole mind 


The Tragedy Begins 177 

was intent on the problem as to what they were 
to do next. 

“Hurry up,” said William impatiently. 
“We’ve got to get out now. We’d better try 
one of the windows on the ground floor.” 

“Fourth Classical’ll do,” said Tommy; “it’s 
quite an easy drop into the street, only we’ll 
have to look out that no one sees us.” 

They started off in the direction of the stairs, 
when Attwood put in a petition for his boot. 
“Do let me have it, Billy,” he said pathetically; 
“I swear I won’t do anything, and it’s beastly 
uncomfortable with only one.” 

“Shut up,” said William roughly; “you 
won’t get it till we’re safe outside, you dirty 
little spy.” 

“We haven’t licked him yet,” said Alex- 
ander, “and he hasn’t sworn not to split.” 

“We can’t stop to lick him now,” said 
Tommy. “It’ll take too much time. But we’d 
better make ’im swear.” 

“Oh, blow the swearin’,” said William; “let’s 
get outside first,” and he hurried on down the 
passage. The others followed, protesting. 
“We must make him swear,” said Alexander, 
who was conscious of being more deeply com- 
mitted than the others. Attwood limped pain- 
fully behind, the very picture of abandoned 
misery. 


178 


The Tragedy Begins 


“If you’ll leave me ’lone,” he said, addressing 
his captors in general, “I’ll show you a way out.” 

“What way?” snapped William. “There 
isn’t one.” 

“Yes, there is,” said Attwood; “by the yard 
at the back. My brother showed it me. There’s 
holes in the wall to climb over by.” 

“Go on!” said William incredulously. 

“There is,” said Attwood. “I’ve been. My 
brother showed it me.” 

“Swear you won’t breathe a word to a livin’ 
soul,” said Alexander, seizing the opportunity, 
and Attwood swore solemnly. “Say, T wish to 
die if I do,’ ” he added, and the prisoner obedi- 
ently repeated the words. William had already 
gone on ahead. 

They hurried downstairs by the light of the 
taper and Attwood showed them the proper 
window. All went perfectly smooth, the win- 
dow opened without giving any trouble, and 
the drop into the yard was an easy one even 
for the one-booted Attwood. The yard was 
crossed, the wall reached, and there, sure 
enough, were the holes conveniently arranged 
for climbing. 

“Give me my boot now, Billy,” said Att- 
wood; “you promised you would.” 

“No, I didn’t,” answered William, “and I 


The Tragedy Begins 


179 


won’t, either. I’m going to take it with me, 
and you can put it on in the street. I’ll teach 
you to come spying, you beastly little cad.” 
He handed the boot to Tommy and commenced 
to scale the wall. “You’re jolly lucky to get 
off without a licking,” he said when half way 
up. “If we’d stopped there I’d’ve made you 
sore all over.” 

He reached the top and paused for a mo- 
ment, sitting astride while Tommy passed the 
boot up. “You’d better hurry up,” he said, 
“ ’cos there’s no one in the street now. I’m 
going to scoot off home.” A moment later he 
disappeared from view on the other side of the 
wall. His captivity at least was at an end. 

“I vote we make Atty come last,” said Aleck 
as he started to climb. His damaged hand 
made him slower than William, but he got up 
all right and duly disappeared. Then Tommy 
mounted, leaving Attwood alone holding the 
now useless taper. The street was still empty, 
and Tommy dropped into it with a most re- 
freshing sense of freedom and escape. William 
had already disappeared, and Aleck was almost 
at the corner, running for all he was worth. 
Tommy proceeded to follow his example; the 
thought of what Mrs. Clementina would say 
was beginning to trouble him. It took a good 


180 


The Tragedy Begins 


deal to make her angry, but, as I said, when 
she was it was no joke. 

He had barely got a hundred yards from 
the wall when he heard a shout behind him, a 
curious sort of shout it was, not very loud, but 
somehow impressive. His first impulse was to 
disregard it and hurry on; he had surely cares 
enough of his own to justify his leaving a 
traitorous spy like Attwood to his fate. But 
some peculiar property in the shout made him 
pause. He turned round and saw by the light 
of a street lamp Attwood apparently sitting 
motionless on the ground. “What’s the row?” 
he called, not too loud, just enough to carry; 
but Attwood did not answer, and somehow 
the silence startled him. He ran back a yard 
or two and then stopped, because he saw that 
Attwood was playing him a trick. His shoul- 
ders were shrugged up and his head bent for- 
ward, just as people do when they are trying 
to prevent themselves from bursting out laugh- 
ing, and he wasn’t even trying to tie on his 
boot. “All right, young Atty,” shouted 
Tommy, “you just wait till to-morrow.” Then 
he turned and ran home as fast as his legs would 
carry him. He was horrified to see on passing 
the clock that it was nearly eleven. 


CHAPTER XII 

tommy’s ears are boxed 

H e ran the whole way, breathing scien- 
tifically through his nose, and though he 
never paused once to take breath, it seemed to 
take a tremendous time. When at last he 
reached Begonia Road (did I mention that that 
was the name of the street in which he lived?) 
it was altogether deserted, and in many of the 
houses there was not even a light. Laburnam 
Villa was at the farther end, and as he drew 
near he noticed that the front door was open. 
As he drew nearer still he saw with alarm that 
his mother, with a white shawl over her head, 
was standing talking at the gate to a police- 
man. They both turned in his direction as he 
approached, evidently attracted by the clatter 
made by his boots as he came pounding along. 
He pulled up in front of them, rather puffed 
in spite of the scientific breathing. 

Mrs. Clementina promptly seized him by 
both shoulders and shook him so vigorously 
that he fairly gasped. As I said, she was a 
lady of monumental proportions, while Tommy 
at this date was fairly small. The policeman 
181 


182 Tommy's Ears are Boxed 

looked on reflectively. Mrs. Clementina con- 
tinued to shake him, being, as a matter of fact, 
greatly relieved at his appearance, and work- 
ing off her recent anxiety in this way. At 
short intervals she demanded to know where 
he had been, but failed, for obvious reasons, to 
get any answer. 

“Is it ’im, mum?” asked the policeman at 
length, rather unnecessarily, it seems to me, for 
it is hardly to be supposed that Mrs. Clemen- 
tina would have adopted this peculiar form of 
salutation to any chance visitor. His words 
recalled the indignant lady to the actualities of 
the situation. She released her unfortunate 
son and turned to the guardian of the law. 

“Yes, constable,” she said, “this is the boy. 
This is the heartless youth on whose behalf I 
was about to ask you to telephone to the Chief 
Inspector. Take him to prison, constable, lock 
him up, feed him on bread and water, a wicked, 
heartless Bluggins. I shan’t interfere,” and 
she folded her arms and glared down remorse- 
lessly at Tommy. 

The constable knew what was expected of 
him. It was not the first time he had been 
called upon to terrorize erring infancy, and in 
a voice of somewhat melodramatic sternness 
he declared that if it happened again he cer- 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 183 

tainly would. But being the father of a fam- 
ily, he knew that that wasn’t really the right 
line to take in the present case. He knew, 
as, alas! Mrs. Clementina did not, that the 
bogey that is formidable and frightens us at 
six may possibly retain a little of its terror- 
izing power at eight and nine, but at twelve and 
thirteen is nothing but a bogey stuffed with 
rags, a contemptible object, a thing of laughter. 
To be threatened with it at that ripe age is an 
insult alike to our manhood and our intelli- 
gence. I say the constable knew this, and he 
tried to convey his knowledge to Mrs. Clemen- 
tina. “What ’e wants, mum,” he said, as he 
saluted and returned to his beat, “is a good 
’iding.” 

Now, Tommy had reached the gate of La- 
burnam Villa in a thoroughly repentant mood ; 
the shaking, with its accompanying publicity, 
had ruffled his temper a good deal, and driven 
away most of the repentance, and this last un- 
fortunate move completed the process. He 
walked up the garden path in front of his 
mother in a thoroughly rebellious, nay, revo- 
lutionary, frame of mind, determined at all 
costs to assert himself and let the world in gen- 
eral and his mother and Mrs. Golightly in 
particular see that he wasn’t going to be treated 


184 Tommy's Ears are Boooed 

like a baby any longer. Mrs. Golightly, I 
should have mentioned, had been a witness of 
the great part of the scene from a point of 
vantage near the front door. 

When they got inside, Mrs. Clementina 
seized him by the collar and conducted him into 
the studio. He tried to shake himself free, but 
only succeeded in bursting the button-hole, 
which added the last touch to his disreputable 
appearance. The studio was brilliantly lighted, 
and revealed remorselessly the state of affairs. 
Mrs. Clementina folded her arms and gazed 
at him indignantly. “I don’t think, Thomas,” 
she said slowly, ‘T ever saw a boy look such 
a disreputable Bluggins in all my life.” 

It can scarcely be said that the description 
was exaggerated. Tommy’s hands were the 
color of soot with dust, and a good deal of it 
had got onto his face. His collar was unbut- 
toned, and also freely begrimed. His waist- 
coat was buttonless and torn open, and the toes 
of his boots bore unmistakable traces of having 
scraped against the wall. Altogether he pre- 
sented a distressing spectacle enough for the 
eyes of a fond mother. Yet Mrs. Clementina 
was not, as might have been supposed, making 
a rapid calculation as to the extent of the dam- 
age done. She was, on the contrary, struggling 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 185 

with a desire to come to terms and make a 
sketch of the offender. Visions of what she 
could make the subject in black and white were 
floating before her. “In Mischief’’ or “In Dis- 
grace” or “After the Battle” would be the title, 
and would be just the sort of thing that would 
go down and sell. But she resisted the temp- 
tation, partly because she was very hurt and 
very angry, partly because she felt pretty sure 
of being able to do it from memory afterward. 
So instead of taking the form of a pacific over- 
ture, her first words were uncompromisingly 
severe. 

“Now, Thomas,” she said in a tone of au- 
thority, “you’ll just tell me what you’ve been 
up to.” 

“I shan’t,” answered Tommy, with a defiant 
glare. I hope I have made you understand 
the sort of temper he was in. 

Mrs. Clementina looked astonished, for this 
was not in the least like Tommy. “What, 
Thomas?” she said. "^What did I hear you 
say? Shall I have to send for the policeman 
after all?” 

It was the most unfortunate remark she 
could have made. Tommy returned no answer, 
but put his hands in his pockets and looked 
carelessly round the room. 


186 Tommy^s Ears are Boxed 

The temptation to take a sketch again pre- 
sented itself. “Don’t Care” or “Defiance” 
would have been the title. But again the in- 
stinct of maternal responsibility asserted itself. 
“If you don’t tell me this moment where you’ve 
been, Thomas,” she said severely, “I shall just 
box your ears for you.” Tommy continued his 
not very successful attempt at jauntiness, and 
Mrs. Clementina went to her writing desk and 
opened a drawer. After a little searching she 
drew out a wad of cotton wool. 

“Now, Thomas,” she said with dignity, “are 
you going to be a good boy and tell me, or a 
wicked Bluggins and have your ears boxed?” 
and she brandished the cotton wool before him 
in a threatening manner. 

Tommy made no answer. He was wonder- 
ing what the cotton wool was for. 

“Dangerous, I know it is,” said Mrs. Clem- 
entina, “but I’m going to do it. Put some of 
this in your ears, you wicked Bluggins.” 
Tommy took the wool and did as he was told. 
It was, you perceive, a measure of precaution. 

Mrs. Clementina took a turn or two up and 
down the room, waving one arm about as 
though she were trying to get her eye in. 
Tommy watched her anxiously. These elab- 
orate preparations rather disturbed him. 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 187 

“Aren’t you going to tell me, Thomas?” she 
asked, pausing in her walk. Tommy shook his 
head. He could not surrender with honor at 
such a moment, though he would dearly have 
liked to. At this dramatic crisis a tap came at 
the door and Mrs. Golightly’s head appeared. 
“Will you be taking your cocoa now, mum?” 
she said mildly. 

The interruption irritated Mrs. Clementina 
and screwed her up to the necessary pitch of 
indignation. Without pausing to answer, she 
boxed Tommy’s ears so soundly that she nearly 
knocked him off his feet. “There,” she said, 
“I’ve done it.” It was a dreadful mistake, of 
course, but unfortunately she made it, and, 
what was still worse, did not know she had 
made it. Mrs. Golightly sighed approvingly, 
and repeated her question about the cocoa. 

“Bring it in here, please, Mrs. Golightly,” 
said Tommy’s mother in a tragic voice, “and 
give this wicked boy his supper in the dining- 
room. Go away,” she continued, turning to the 
culprit, “and eat the meal prepared by the lav- 
ish hand of a too indulgent parent, and don’t 
think I shall come for your candle to-night, 
because I shan’t.” Tommy went away with- 
out a word, burning with anger at having been 
punished before Mrs. Golightly. 


188 Tommy^s Ears are Boooed 

Mrs. Clementina began her sketch from 
memory, and on the whole succeeded fairly 
well. It was worked afterward into an oil 
painting and exhibited at the Grimborough 
autumn exhibition, where Sir Nathan Perkins 
(the pill man) purchased it at the artist’s price. 
“Don’t Care” was the title eventually selected 
and fixed upon. 

It is improbable, dear sir or madam, that 
you have ever had your ears boxed, for the 
practice has of late years fallen largely into 
disuse. But speaking from experience and the 
vivid memory of a venerable lady (God rest 
her soul), who in my youth sometimes boxed 
mine, I may tell you that the first effect is an 
impression that the world has suddenly ex- 
ploded. When that has passed, and you see 
that the universe is still intact, your ears begin 
to burn and tingle, and all your evil passions 
rise up and urge you to kick somebody or some- 
thing by way of protest. This explains why 
Tommy, who had suffered the penalty for the 
first time, banged the door after him as he went 
out, and gulped down, with ever rising wrath, 
the supper prepared by his too indulgent 
parent. The flag of rebellion, which a few min- 
utes before had all but been hauled down, was 
flying now more defiantly than ever, mainly 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 189 

for the edification of Mrs. Golightly, who kept 
coming in to see if he had finished, being anx- 
ious to assure herself that the gas was turned 
out before she retired for the night. Her pres- 
ence intensified his cup of bitterness, for he felt 
certain that she must be thinking how red his 
ears looked, and when she said that his poor 
ma had been worrying about him all the even- 
ing he professed a cold-blooded indifference 
which he was far from feeling. Then he went 
upstairs to bed in about as wicked a frame of 
mind as he had ever been in in his life. Wild 
thoughts of running away, or at any rate of 
maintaining for the rest of his life an attitude 
of cold and distant reserve toward his mother, 
floated about in his mind and seemed at the mo- 
ment quite practicable. There was a beautiful 
picture of Our Lady in his bedroom, hung there 
by Mrs. Clementina, who though she was not 
a Catholic herself (Tommy’s father had been 
a convert) , had a great reverence for Tommy’s 
religion, and did all she could to encourage him 
to practise it faithfully. Generally he said his 
prayers before it, but this evening he didn’t 
even look at it, and didn’t say any prayers, and 
instead of folding his trousers carefully and 
putting them under the mattress to press out 
the creases, he threw them in a heap on the 


190 Tommy^s Ears are Boxed 

floor with his other clothes, and got into bed 
and began to read “The Blood-stain on the 
Bowlder,” an unedifying romance, which had 
been lent him by Alexander. And this in defi- 
ance of a solemn promise he had given never 
to read in bed, because of the danger of setting 
the house on fire. But you see he was assert- 
ing himself. 

However, the candle didn’t give a very good 
light, and there seemed to be something wrong 
with his eyes, which kept getting misty; also 
the “Bloodstain on the Bowlder,” though there 
was a murder in the very first chapter, did not 
seem so interesting as Aleck had said (it was 
not really creepy murder, but just ordinary), 
and he soon got tired of it. He was just going 
to blow out the candle when the door opened 
and his mother appeared. The sketch had been 
so successful that she had come in the fulness 
of her heart to make peace, and had even an- 
other crystallized plum concealed in her left 
hand. At the sight of her abandoned Tommy 
reading in bed she stopped short and gave a 
cry of horror. “Oh, Thomas, Thomas,” she 
cried, “and you promised not to.” 

Tommy sat up in bed and hung his head and 
felt exceedingly mean. His mother came 
across to him and seized the book. The very 


Tommy^s Ears are Boxed 191 

inartistic picture on the cover raised her indig- 
nation to a still higher pitch. It represented 
one of the many occasions on which the bowlder 
became bloodstained. 

“What a thing!” she said; “and this is the 
sort of trash you read, is it? Where did 
you get it, wicked boy? Tell me this in- 
stant.” 

“A boy lent it me,” said Tommy in a very 
low voice. 

“Oh, did he, indeed!” said Mrs. Clementina. 
“You shall just take it to Father Genicot in 
the morning with a letter telling how you’ve 
been behaving, and we’ll see what he's got to 
say. I did think I could trust you, Thomas, 
but my eyes are opened. I shall never be able 
to trust you again, never, never. I hope you’ll 
say your prayers before you go to sleep, and 
ask God to make you a better boy.” With that 
she took away the candle and walked solemnly 
out of the room, leaving behind her a very un- 
happy and conscience-stricken little sinner all 
alone in the dark. 

So much for Tommy on this fatal evening. 
We have still to see William and Alexander to 
bed, and let us, by way of relief, take Alex- 
ander first, as his fate was the less tragic. He, 
like William, ran hard all the way to Ros- 


192 


Tommy's Ears are Bowed 


common Street, but, unlike him, he paused at 
the corner and took off his boots, because, un- 
like William, he had been thinking as well as 
running, and, as usual, had espied a possible 
means of avoiding detection. His aunt (a mild 
lady, it is true, but even a maiden aunt may 
turn and stop your pocket money, or possibly 
write a letter) had said she would not be home 
till late. There was just a chance that his sister 
might be out for the evening also, and in that 
case the latch of the front door would be up, 
and if he could slip in without being heard by 
the servants no one would know exactly what 
time he had arrived. All depended upon not 
being heard by the servants, because the cook 
at least would certainly be burning for ven- 
geance for the Constable Robbins episode of the 
afternoon. Now, the kitchen was in the base- 
ment, and if he had walked to the front door 
or even crossed the street to it he would cer- 
tainly have been heard, so, as I say, he took off 
his boots at the corner. There was no one 
about to notice and think it eccentric. 

Everything was as he hoped. There were 
no lights in any of the front windows, except 
those of the kitchen, which meant that neither 
his aunt nor his sister had returned. He crept 
cautiously along the front of the house and 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 193 

up the steps to the front door, and found it 
unlatched. He managed to open and close it 
without attracting the attention of the watchers 
below — a remarkable feat, for though he did 
not know it, the kitchen door had been left open 
for the express purpose of timing his arrival. 
In the dining-room he found his own supper 
ready laid, but he did not stop to partake of it, 
but carried some bread and butter with him 
upstairs, and scattered a few crumbs about to 
allay suspicion. Within ten minutes of his 
arrival he was in bed and the candle extin- 
guished. 

Not long after that he heard a cab draw up, 
and the voices of his aunt and sister in the hall. 
He crept cautiously out of bed and listened at 
the top of the stairs*. The cook, to his inex- 
pressible consolation, was conveying, with vari- 
ous alarming conjectures, the unfounded in- 
telligence that he was not in yet. The cook’s 
voice was powerful, and could easily be heard; 
his aunt’s reply arrived at the top of the stairs 
in the form of an inarticulate murmur; ap- 
parently she was incredulous and protesting. 
Then he heard his sister suddenly chime in. 
"^At any rate, cook, he’s had his supper,” she 
said. Her voice, too, was clear enough and had 
a touch of defiance in it. Miss Aggie was 


194 Tommy's Ears are Boxed 

always ready to fight Aleck’s battles. She 
wasn’t one of the snubbing sort of elder sisters, 
more’s the pity. Her remark was followed by 
one of those silences more eloquent than words, 
and the cook was heard descending the kitchen 
stairs. What she said when she got to the 
bottom ought to have made Alexander’s ears 
tingle almost as hotly as Tommy’s were doing 
at that very moment. “An artful little rascal” 
was the least vigorous of her strictures. The 
object of them returned to bed with a sigh of 
relief, and waited for the situation to de- 
velop. 

It developed rapidly, but on quite the right 
lines. His aunt came upstairs with a candle 
and entered the room on tiptoe, shading it care- 
fully with her hand. Aleck did not pretend to 
be asleep, but opened his eyes at once, and 
smiled a wan smile. “Have you had a nice day, 
aunty?” he said in his gentlest tone. 

“Yes, dear,” answered his aunt. “But why 
aren’t you asleep?” She came over to the bed 
and put her hand on his forehead. “Why, 
you’re quite hot, Aleck,” she said in a tone of 
alarm. “Don’t you feel well, dear boy?” 

“ Ye-es, aunt-y,” Aleck answered in the hesi- 
tating manner which long experience had 
taught him would certainly have the desired 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 195 

effect. “I do feel a little hot,” he added — the 
odious little humbug. He was supposed to be 
delicate, and traded on the fact habitually in 
the most shamefully unscrupulous manner. 

“Oh, Aleck!” said his aunt, rising to the bait 
without hesitation, “I do hope you haven’t 
caught cold. I must take your temperature at 
once,” and she bustled anxiously out of the 
room, returning almost immediately with a 
thermometer, which she put into his mouth. 
He sat up in bed with it sticking out like a 
cigarette, and ought to have felt ashamed of 
himself, but I’m afraid he didn’t. The strap 
from Captain May’s biggest portmanteau 
would have been more to the point than a ther- 
mometer, I can not help thinking. 

The temperature proved to be normal, to 
Alexander’s disappointment, as he had been 
cherishing a secret hope of getting off going 
to school next day. Miss Comoran, on the 
other hand, was greatly relieved. “I’ll just 
give you a cooling draught, dear,” she said, 
“and then I think you’ll be quite comfortable,” 
and she went away to prepare it. Of all the 
many foolish people we have met in the course 
of this narrative, she was far and away the most 
foolish, and I declare I have no patience with 
her. I can almost find it in my heart to forgive 


196 Tommy^s Ears are Booced 

Alexander for his many detestable vices when 
I think of the way he was brought up. Igno- 
rance in her case was no excuse, for there was 
Mrs. Captain May next door only too ready to 
give her the benefit of her rich experience as a 
mother of nine. She came back with her silly 
cooling draught, and Aleck swallowed it grate- 
fully, and went peacefully to sleep. 

Meanwhile, as will be easily understood, a 
very different scene was passing next door, at 
No. 5. William’s absence was first noticed at 
supper, and Matthew, when questioned on the 
subject, could give no information. “I don’t 
know what’s coming over that boy,” said Mrs. 
May reflectively. “I shall have to teach him a 
lesson. This sort of thing won't do," It took 
a good deal to upset Mrs. May, but when the 
time for night prayers arrived, and still no 
signs of William, she began to get really anx- 
ious, and sent Matthew out to the end of the 
street to see if he was coming. All the junior 
branch of the family — that is, all the family up 
to and including Susannah — had gone to bed 
by this time, and when Matthew returned 
empty-handed, declaring that he had been al- 
most to the college, there was a general feeling 
of consternation, and a sort of family council 
was held to decide what was to be done. The 


197 


Tommy's Ears are Boxed 

council was still sitting and had almost come 
to the conclusion that Matthew had better go 
out again and consult the presiding policeman 
when the front door bell sounded a modest 
tinkle. 

“Bring him in here, Matthew,” said Mrs. 
May rather grimly, and Matthew, with a pleas- 
ing sense of importance, went out to arrest the 
delinquent. 

“Got locked in, couldn’ ’elp it,” gasped 
William breathlessly as soon as the door was 
opened. Matthew did not answer, but re- 
fastened the front door in ominous silence. He 
had intended to maintain this dignified silence 
the whole time, but William’s dust-begrimed 
and dishevelled condition startled him into 
speech. “Good Lord, Billy,” he said, “what 
Ve you been up to?” 

“I couldn’ ’elp it,” gasped William. “I go’ 
locked in. Can I change m’coat?” 

“I’ve got to take you straight in, Billy,” said 
Matthew magisterially, grasping him firmly 
by the arm. “My, won’t you catch it when she 
sees that tear.” With which comforting re- 
mark he marched his prisoner across the hall 
and into the room where the council was sitting. 
“Here he is, mother,” said Matthew. “He says 
he got locked in.” 


198 Tommy's Ears are Boxed 

“Well, young man,” said Mrs. May severely, 
“this is a nice sort of night-time to be coming 
in, isn’t it?” And then she saw his coat — which 
was a new coat, not one of Matt’s cut down — 
and then the storm burst. If you have ever 
been in a storm of that sort yourself you will 
know what it was like, and if you haven’t, no 
words of mine can describe it for you. Besides, 
I doubt if William would like me to describe 
in detail all that happened. Sufficient to say 
that if he cried himself to sleep that night 
(under the bedclothes so that Matthew should 
not hear) , it was not because he did not get any 
supper, for a kind elder sister smuggled some 
up on the quiet, nor for any other physical 
suffering whatsoever, but solely and entirely 
because the dreaded blow had fallen, and he 
was not to be allowed to go down to meet 
the Buluwayo next time she arrived in port. 
He was thinking of the Captain from the 
heights on the bridge of the steamer waving 
his hand to the family group on the dock 
wall, looking out for William, and William 
would not be there. And with a bursting 
heart he was thinking of that last interview 
in the Captain’s cabin. And so, having found 
at last one entirely honest Black Brother, let 
us close the record of this disastrous day. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A MOST DRASTIC PUNISHMENT 

rrioMMY woke up next morning in a very 
chastened and repentant frame of mind, 
and said his prayers before the picture of Our 
Lady with unusual fervor. It seemed quite 
clear to him that the reason why everything had 
gone so hopelessly wrong the night before was 
because of his running away from Mrs. Clem- 
entina when she waved to him with her um- 
brella. He felt pretty sure that she had wanted 
him particularly that evening, and you couldn’t 
expect Our Lady to help you if you were doing 
that sort of thing. But what troubled him most 
was the thought that he had broken his promise 
about reading in bed. To do him justice, he 
worried much more about that than about the 
threatened letter to Father Genicot, and he 
made up his mind to tell his mother he was 
sorry, and to promise again and never break it 
as long as he lived. He turned over in his mind 
many plans for making her see that he was 
really sorry, and he put the first one into exe- 
cution at once by going down to the back kit- 
chen and blacking, not his own boots only, but 

199 


200 A Most Drastic Punishment 


the boots of the entire household, including 
even a pair of Mrs. Golightly’s, which I must 
say I think was almost heroic. Then he washed 
his hands and went out to Mass. He generally 
served Mass at a church in an adjoining street, 
and on his way he thought that if Father 
Somerville were still in his box when he got 
there he would go to confession, too. It was 
not the proper day, but he was feeling strongly 
the necessity of doing something unusual. Be- 
sides, he was not sure that breaking your prom- 
ise like that might not be a bad sin. 

Father Somerville was in his box, and likely 
to remain there some time, for he was hear- 
ing the confession of Miss Francesca Keller- 
man, which was always a somewhat lengthy 
proceeding. The ingenious person who always 
supplies us with abundance of good reasons 
for not going to confession suggested to 
Tommy that the good father would be anxious 
to begin Mass, and would not care to hear any 
more that morning, but Tommy stuck to it and 
went in after Miss Kellerman, and came out 
feeling very much happier. Father Somerville 
was a very old friend ; he had received Tommy’s 
father into the Church and had known Tommy 
ever since he was a baby. He knew Mrs. Clem- 
entina, too, and he understood the state of 


A Most Drastic Punishment 201 

affairs exactly. Tommy, by his advice, went 
to Holy Communion, and walked home to 
breakfast, feeling, in spite of all the thunder- 
clouds ahead, positively happy and fuller than 
ever of good resolutions and purposes of 
amendment. Mrs. Golightly was in the hall 
when he arrived, and told him that his mother 
had a bad headache and wasn’t coming down 
to breakfast. His heart sank a little at the 
news, and he asked anxiously if it was very 
bad. Mrs. Golightly feared it was. “You 
never know, Master Tommy,” she said mourn- 
fully. “There’s many a one in his lone grave 
this minute as began no more ’an with a bad 
headache,” she added, by way of a cheerful 
comment on the situation. She then retired 
with a sigh to the kitchen to prepare Tommy’s 
breakfast. 

Tommy knew Mrs. Golightly and her pe- 
culiar philosophy too well to be much depressed 
by her lugubrious forebodings, but he was 
sorry not to be able to see his mother, being 
extremely anxious to get rid of the cloud under 
which he felt he was at present lying. On the 
other hand, if she did not come down she would 
probably forget to give him the letter, and 
there was distinct consolation in that thought. 
Tommy had never had a letter of this sort be- 


202 A Most Drastic Punishment 

fore, and felt distinctly uncomfortable on the 
subject. Mrs. Clementina had a peculiar way 
of putting things which she felt might easily be 
misunderstood and given a more sinister intej- 
pretation than was intended. During his soli- 
tary breakfast he tried to look over some les- 
sons, having, as we know, been sadly distracted 
during the night studies of the evening before, 
but most of the time he was thinking about the 
letter. After breakfast there was still half an 
hour before he need start for school, but in- 
stead of following the dictates of prudence and 
going on with his lessons, he went into the 
studio to see if there were anything useful he 
could do there. Mrs. Golightly had already 
swept it out, so he arranged all the chairs in a 
neat row along the wall, and seeing that the 
flowers in the vase on his mother’s writing table 
were rather faded, he took them out and sub- 
stituted some of his own choice from the gar- 
den. Then he began to clean some brushes 
which obviously needed cleaning, and was 
busily engaged on this penitential task when 
his mother appeared on the scene. She was 
wearing a dressing gown of geranium-colored 
taffeta with black velvet decorations. Mrs. 
Golightly was perfectly correct, she had a very 
bad headache, and moreover she had received 


A Most Drastic Punishment 203 

two bills by the morning post, and a reminder 
that the gas and water rate was due. Tommy’s 
escapade of the night before had upset her ter- 
ribly, and a hurried perusal, during the watches 
of a rather sleepless night, of “The Bloodstain 
on the Bowlder” seryed to increase her distress. 
She came in carrying the offending volume be- 
tween her finger and thumb, and holding it out 
before her as though it were a contaminating 
object. 

“What are you doing with my brushes, 
Thomas?” she said sharply as she entered. “I 
do wish you’d learn to leave things alone.” 

“I was just cleaning them for you, mummy,” 
said Tommy humbly, though this unexpected 
severity rather took the wind out of his sails. 
Mrs. Clementina did not answer, but sat down 
rather violently at her writing desk and pulled 
open several drawers. It was an unpropitious 
moment, but Tommy’s good resolutions were 
very strong, and time was precious. “I’m sorry 
I was reading in bed,” he said suddenly, with- 
out any prelude. 

“Well, I should just think you ought to be, 
Tummas,” said his mother. “If I hadn’t 
seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have 
believed it of you. Here, take this horrid 
book away, and give it to Father Genicot. 


204 A Most Drastic Punishment 

I should like to know what he’ll say 
about it!” 

“I won’t d-do it again, really I won’t,” said 
poor Tommy, mopping his eyes, but Mrs. 
Clementina was too sore and indignant to be 
moved to pity. 

‘T hope you won’t, Thomas,” she said, “but 
how do I know? I can’t trust you now; that is 
the dreadful thing, I can’t trust my only off- 
spring when he promises me faithfully not to. 
Oh, it’s no good crying like a baby; I’m not 
going to be weak and let you off. Sit down 
here, and write exactly what I say.” She rose 
from her seat and pointed majestically to it. 
Tommy did as he was told, and sat down and 
sorrowfully mopped his eyes. On the desk in 
front of him was a sheet of Mrs. Clementina’s 
best cream-laid note paper with “Laburnam 
Villa, Begonia Road,” artistically engraved in 
claret-colored letters at the top. 

“Dear and Reverend Sir,” said Mrs. Clem- 
entina suddenly, and Tommy looked up for a 
minute for a momentary hope that this term of 
endearment was addressed to himself, and that 
peace and forgiveness were coming at last. But 
his mother frowned back at him severely. 
“Write it,” she said, “with a capital R,” and 
Tommy understood then that it was for Father 


A Most Drastic Punishment 205 

Genicot, not for him, and wrote it in his best 
copperplate. 

“My son Thomas,” continued MrjS. Clemen- 
tina, standing like a statue, with folded arms, 
“returned home last night at eleven p. m., 
comma, having previously disobeyed me in the 
most deliberate and heartless manner, full stop. 
Have you got that down, Thomas?” 

“Yes, mummy,” said Tommy, after a short 
pause. 

“Furthermore, comma,” continued Mrs. 
Clementina in a more majestic voice than ever, 
“in spite of his solemn promise to the contrary, 
comma, I found him reading in bed — two notes 
of admiration'" 

Tommy looked up imploringly. “I won’t 
do it again, mummy, really I won’t,” he said 
in a tearful voice. He had hoped that this 
crowning and most shameful iniquity might be 
left out of the catalogue of his sins. But Mrs. 
Clementina was not to be moved. “Understand 
once and for all, Thomas,” she said severely, 
“that I will not be hectored and bullied, so don’t 
attempt it. Begin a new paragraph.” Again 
there was a pause. Tommy looked up anx- 
iously at his mother, who seemed to be gather- 
ing strength for a last final denunciation. As 
a matter of fact, she was struggling with 


206 A Most Drastic Punishment 

another temptation to throw duty to the winds 
and sketch Tommy’s woe-begone and tear- 
stained face. But as before she resisted it. 
“Yes, Tummus, I will/' she said with decision. 
“Write this very clearly and underline the last 
part of it. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, mummy,” Tommy answered meekly. 

“Having in view the cold- (hyphen) blooded 
(underline that, too) and undutiful character 
of the offense,” she said in an awful voice, “I 
must beg you — to administer — without delay — 
condign punishment of the most drastic de- 
scription, Your obedient servant — give it to 
me now and I’ll do the rest,” she added. 

Tommy wrote down with a rather shaky 
hand this last terrible sentence, wondering what 
it meant, and relinquished his place at the desk. 
Mrs. Clementina sat down, looked over the 
letter, added an omitted “g” to the word “con- 
dign,” and signed it with the wonderful, flour- 
ishing signature which has adorned so many 
works of art. Then she addressed an envelope, 
sealed it up, and gave it to Tommy. “There, 
Tummus,” she said, “give that to Father Geni- 
cot as soon as you get to school. If you will 
behave like a Bluggins you must be treated as 
such, my cherub.” 

Tommy took the letter submissively and put 


A Most Drastic Punishment 207 


it into his breast pocket. ‘‘Please, mummy, 
what does it mean?” he asked timidly. 

“Never you mind what it means, Tummus,” 
answered Mrs. Clementina grimly. “It means 
something altogether ghastly, I can tell you 
that. It means birch rods and canes and cat-o’- 
nine-tails and all sorts of horrible things that 
bite. You’d better go off to school now or 
you’ll be late.” 

Tommy turned to go. “Good-by, mummy, 
dear,” he said, but so softly that Mrs. Clemen- 
tina didn’t hear him. She was occupied in 
pitching poor Tommy’s floral decorations into 
the waste-paper basket. These were, it is true, 
rather crude as to the color scheme, and she 
thought that the designer was Mrs. Golightly, 
but it made a lump come in Tommy’s throat 
all the same. 

His spirits sank lower and lower the nearer 
he got to school. It seemed no good being 
sorry, because the more you were the more 
everything went wrong, and besides, he began 
to be vividly conscious of all the dangers and 
difficulties that lay immediately ahead. There 
would certainly be a most tremendous row 
about the broken window, and very probably 
this terrible letter would lead to his being sus- 
pected of having something to do with it, and 


208 A Most Drastic Punishment 


in that case there would be another bill. Be- 
sides, they hadn’t put the money on Mr. Colqu- 
hdun’s desk after all, so the class would prob- 
ably be kept in again and be savager than ever. 
Altogether things looked about as black and 
awkward as they well could look. 

He was tiiitiing these gloomy thoughts over 
. in his mirifd, and so engrossed by them that he 
hardly noticed where he was going, when he 
heard his name called, and saw William com- 
ing toward him. There was nothing in 
William’s appearance in ari;^ way calculated to 
qraise his drooping spirits. William’s usually 
cheerful face wore a woebegone expression and 
his whole bearing was that of one upon whom 
misfortune had laid her hand heavily. He 
walked for a little while without speaking. 

“Did you catch it much, Billy?” said 
Tommy at last, by way of breaking the silence. 

“I’m not goin’ to be let go down,” said 
William with an ominous quiver in his voice. 
“I don’t care about anythin’ now.” In face of 
such a calamity Tommy could find no words of 
consolation, and discreetly looked the other 
way. 

“What did you get. Tommy?” asked William 
at length, with the air of one who, though 
doomed himself, is yet not insensible to the woes 


A Most Drastic Punishment 209 

of others. “Was your mother in much of a 
rage?” 

“Pretty bad,” answered Tommy; “she — she 
boxed my ears.” 

"‘Thafs not much,” said William rather con- 
temptuously. 

“She’s given me a letter, too,” said Tommy, 
not to be robbed of his just title to commisera- 
tion. “She says I’ve got to have condign pun- 
ishment of the most drastic description. D’you 
know what ‘drastic’ means?” 

“No,” answered William. “It sounds pretty 
bad, though. I sh’d think it means you’ve got 
to he hkmmered some way.” 

'Tommy sighed deeply. “We never put the 
trioneybn after all,” he said. There was a long 
pause, in the course of which they reached the 
street directly leading to the college. Sud- 
denly William stopped short. “Look here, 
Tommy,” he’^said, “suppose we sag.” 

In case, dear sir or madam, you do not know 
the meaning of the word, let me explain that it 
corresponds to what our great-grandfathers 
called playing truant. 

“We’re both bound to catch it about as bad as 
we can,” William continued, abandoning for 
the moment his tone of despondency. “And I 
don’t see why we shouldn’t have something for 


210 A Most Drastic Punishment 


our money. We might go down to Crabbing- 
ton and have a sort of picnic. Do let’s, 
Tommy.” 

Tommy hesitated ; he was startled, and not a 
little attracted by the bold proposal. It was a 
nice day, and the evening seemed a long, long 
way off. “Scrumptious Crabbington,” as we 
know from the pictures of it at all the railway 
stations, is a delightful place, and he had four 
and ninepence in his pocket. Also the idea of 
leaving Alexander to face the music alone was, 
I am afraid, not altogether an unpleasirig one. 
'And so he hesitated. I don’t defend him, mind, 
but, oh my dear reader (for we are all human) , 
have you never put off a disagreeable duty and 
gone down for the day to Scrumptious Crab- 
bington? Have you never deferred, let us say, 
the visit to the dentist, which all the dictates of 
right reason combined to urge upon you? 

“I’ve never sagged before,” said Tommy 
slowly, and William pointed out (correctly, so 
far as logic was concerned) that that wasn’t a 
reason. 

“Young Simmons got ” 

“I know he did,” said William hastily, “and 
so’U we. But we’ll get it anyhow. Do come. 
Tommy.” 

From where they stood they could see the 


A Most Drastic PunishmenJ 


211 


school distinctly, and the boys pouring in at the 
big gates. Tommy looked at it, and thought 
longingly of Scrumptious Crabbington, “the 
Mentone of England,” to quote the advertise- 
ment, and then he made up his mind. 

“No, Billy,” he said with a sigh of genuine 
regret, “it isn’t worth it. We might lose two 
or three halves besides.” There were other 
reasons not unconnected with his visit to Father 
Somerville, but he naturally said nothing about 
that. But he spoke in so decided a tone that 
William saw the decision was final. In gloomy 
silence they marched stolidly toward the fate- 
ful gates. Only once was the silence broken, 
when William asked what had become of Att- 
wood. “He was sitting on the ground laugh- 
ing,” said Tommy bitterly. “Dirty little spy. 
I’ll give him something to laugh about when I 
see him.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE TRAGEDY DEEPENS 

I F, DEAR sir or madam, you have so far re- 
garded Tommy and William as no better 
than two irresponsible infants; if, so far, you 
have considered that they brought their trouble 
on their own heads and got no more than they 
deserved, however hard the judgment you have, 
no doubt, correctly formed, I think, I really 
think that you will be sorry for them now. 
They expected that something terrible would 
be awaiting them within those familiar 
gates, and were bracing themselves up to 
face it courageously; one of them at least 
was really sorry and had resisted tempta- 
tion, and in spite of discouragement still 
retained quite a considerable amount of that 
store of good resolutions with which he had 
started the day. But they never dreamed that 
in a few moments after entering a blow would 
fall upon them which would leave them para- 
lyzed with horror and tasting a sorrow such as, 
in the mercy of Providence, we do not often 
have to taste when we are young. They never 
dreamed (who would, indeed) that the sun was 
212 


The Tragedy Deepens 213 

suddenly going out and darkness coming over 
the whole land. Perhaps you thought I was 
joking when I said we were coming to the 
tragedy, but alas! it "^as no joke, and in a mo- 
ment or two now we shall be plunged right into 
the very thick of it. 

They went straight to Father Genicot’s office 
when they arrived, and William promised to 
wait outside. There was somebody in with him, 
but he came out almost at once, and there were 
two waiting already, but they were short cases 
(letters of excuse for no home work, which 
only needed countersigning), and they were 
dispatched in less than five minutes. Then 
Tommy, with a beating heart and a repetition 
of the cold shivers of the night before, went in 
and presented Mrs. Clementina’s missive. 

Ordinarily he wasn’t at all afraid of Father 
Genicot, who, though he could be awkward on 
occasions, was generally very good natured and 
affable, and not stricter than circumstances 
actually required. Indeed, he did not look the 
sort of master you would be afraid of, being 
rather inclined to stoutness, with a fresh com- 
plexion and curly hair just beginning to turn 
gray. Long experience of the erratic ways of 
boyhood had made him very wise, though his 
methods and plans of action were occasionally 


214 


The Tragedy Deepens 


a puzzle to his younger colleagues. He was 
often mild in cases which seemed to them to call 
for exceptional severity, and again sometimes 
stern with offenders whom they would have let 
off with a caution. But the most exacting of 
his critics would have admitted that he knew 
his business, and that in his hands the discipline 
of the school was safe enough. In private the 
boys generally called him “Daddy Jim,” and 
even “Jimmy.” 

Tommy watched him hard as he read the 
letter, and noticed that once his mouth twitched 
in a queer way, almost as though he were going 
to laugh, which of course must have been a mis- 
take. When he had finished reading it he 
looked at Tommy. “You wrote this yourself, 
didn’t you. Tommy?” he said. 

“Yes, Father,” answered Tommy. “My 
mother made me.” 

“And didn’t you know how to spell ‘con- 
dign’?” asked Father Genicot, who always took 
a certain amount of time to get to the point. 

“No, Father,” said Tommy. “Please, 
Father, I don’t know what it means.” 

“Well, look it up, then,” said Father Geni- 
cot; “there’s a dictionary over there,” and he 
pointed to a book-case at the other side of the 
room. Tommy did as he was told, and began 


215 


The Tragedy Deepens 

turning over the pages of the book. Father 
Genicot returned to the letter and read it over 
carefully again. He was trying to make out 
what was at the bottom of it. Tommy was not 
at all the sort of boy to behave in the way de- 
scribed. 

“Well, have you found it?” asked Father 
Genicot, and Tommy said he had. 

“Read it, then,” said Father Genicot. 

“Merited, suitable, deserved,” said Tommy. 

“Hum!” said Father Genicot. “Couldn’t 
you give any reason why you got in so late, 
now?” 

“Please, Father, I got locked in the study 
place,” answered Tommy. “Please, I ran the 
whole way home, really I did.” 

“You had something to do with that broken 
pane of glass, then, I suppose,” said Father 
Genicot. “Did you tell your mother you got 
locked in?” 

“No, Father,” said Tommy, rather shame- 
facedly. 

“Hum,” said Father Genicot again (it was 
his favorite expletive). “I should fancy you 
were in a bit of a temper last night, weren’t 
you. Tommy?” he added. Tommy did not 
answer. 

“I’ve known boys before now,” said Father 


216 


The Tragedy Deepens 


Genicot slowly, and with the air of one draw- 
ing upon quite an inexhaustible store of ex- 
perience, “quite honest, decent boys, who for- 
got clean all about their promises when they 
were in a tearing rage and were as sorry as 
could be afterward.’’ He looked benevolently 
at Tommy, and two large, tell-tale tears trick- 
ling slowly down saved him the trouble of any 
further questioning. 

“Perhaps your mother didn’t quite under- 
stand how it came about,” he suggested. 

“She says she’ll n-never t-trust me again all 
the rest of her li-life,” sobbed Tommy. 

“Oh, yes she will, Tommy; don’t you worry,” 
said Father Genicot. “I can put in a good 
word for you up there, you know. I can write 
and say I’ve always found you perfectly 
straight and trustworthy, and perhaps I might 
hint how you came to make such a bad mess of 
things last night.” Tommy looked up grate- 
fully. 

“But what about this disobedience?” Father 
Genicot continued, taking up the letter. “Was 
that temper, too?” 

Tommy shook his head. 

“That was really cold-blooded and deliber- 
ate, wasn’t it?” he asked, and Tommy nodded. 

“Well! well!” said Father Genicot after a 


217 


The Tragedy Deepens 

short pause; “we all make mistakes sometimes, 
don’t we ? Let’s try to look on the bright side 
of things. I’ll write to your mother to-day, 
and then see what she says. You must tell her 
you’re sorry, you know.” 

“Please, Father, I have,” said Tommy, “but 
it didn’t make any difference.” 

“Well, tell her again,” said Father Genicot. 
“Keep on telling her. We’ll see about this 
condign punishment business later on. Go to 
your class now and come to me after morning 
school for the letter.” 

Tommy hesitated. “Please, Father,” he 
said nervously, “I think I’d better get some- 
thin’. She — she won’t like it if I don’t.” 

“Hum!” said Father Genicot. “You think 
you deserve something, do you?” 

“Yes, Father,” said Tommy. 

“Well, you can ask Mr. Atkins to give you 
as many as you like,” said Father Genicot. 
“You can go and see if he’s in his room now.” 
Tommy departed with an expression of grati- 
tude more sincere than is usual on such occa- 
sions. Father Genicot at once began the 
letter, and a very skilful performance it was, 
for what this Father did not know about the 
great and difficult art of writing letters to 
parents is not to be counted knowledge. He 


218 The Tragedy Deepens 

wrote it, as I say, and sealed it up and put it 
on a shelf to be called for, and there it remained 
until it was covered with dust and at last torn 
up and thrown into the waste-paper basket. 
For Tommy never came back for the letter, 
and what is stranger still, I doubt if he ever 
thought of it again. Nor did he go to Mr. 
Atkins and ask for twelve (the number he had 
decided on), because when he opened the door 
of Father Genicot’s office and walked out into 
the corridor he walked into another world as 
well, into that land of darkness and misery to 
which I have already alluded. The first person 
he saw on getting outside was William, not the 
William he had left only a few minutes before, 
but a William with his face as pale as a sheet 
and his eyes large and round with horror. By 
his side stood Smart, a boy we have caught a 
glimpse of once before as one of the pursuers 
of Alexander, and Smart’s face, too, was a 
good deal whiter than usual. Directly Tommy 
appeared William seized him by the arm and 
dragged him down the passage without saying 
a word. “What on earth’s the row, Billy?” 
said Tommy, frightened in spite of himself by 
the look on William’s face. Not until they got 
into a dark and unfrequented corner did he 
get any answer. Then William stopped and 


The Tragedy Deepens 219 

began to sob as though his heart would 
break. 

“What is the row, Billy?” said Tommy 
rather angrily. “Why can’t you tell me?” 

“He’s d-dead/^ sobbed William. 

“Who’s dead?” asked Tommy, terribly 
startled, and with a thought of Alexander. 

“Atty,” answered William. “Oh, Tommy, 
what’ll we do?” 

“Who told you?” said Tommy sharply, 
struggling with an overwhelming fear. 

“Smart,” answered William between his 
sobs. “He says he got it from Potter, and 
Potter said a kid who lives in the same street 
as Atty saw him carried home on a stretcher 
last night. Oh, poor old Atty!” 

“Did he get run over or something?” said 
Tommy. William gave no answer, and Tommy 
felt that cold fear climbing slowly up from 
his chest into his throat. 

“Don’t you know, Billy?” he whispered. 
He couldn’t manage more than a whisper. 
William nodded, and Tommy waited in silence. 
They could hear in the distance the tramp of 
the boys’ feet as they trooped in from Mass. 
“He f-fell off the wall and b-broke his back,” 
gasped William under his breath; and then 
Tommy knew the worst, and a picture of 


220 


The Tragedy Deepens 


Attwood sitting on the ground all hunched up 
and quiet came back to him with horrible vivid- 
ness, and he saw that what looked like laughing 
might have been something else. There was a 
long and dreadful silence. Both were thinking 
of the same thing and afraid to utter it. Would 
Attwood have slipped and fallen if he had 
given him back his boot? 

The great bell rang for the beginning of 
school, and sounded somehow strange and un- 
canny and awful, not in the least like the bell 
of ordinary days. They looked at each other, 
and William mopped his eyes and tried to leave 
off crying. “What’ll we do? Whatever’ll we 
do?” he asked, but Tommy did not answer at 
once. He was wondering why Father Genicot 
had said nothing about this awful thing, and 
whether it wouldn’t be better to go to him at 
once and make a clean breast of it. His inde- 
cision was cut short by the sudden appearance 
of Mr. Noldin. “Now, then, get on to your 
school room,” he said, and they moved me- 
chanically away. 

In the school room they found the class 
already assembled, but not Mr. Colquhoun, 
which was a thing absolutely without prece- 
dent. Every one looked scared, most of all 
Alexander, who carefully avoided looking their 


The Tragedy Deepens 221 

way. They were talking about Attwood in 
a hushed whisper, and different versions of the 
story were floating about. Some said he wasn’t 
dead, but only dying, and others that some one 
had pushed him over the wall and hit him on 
the head with his own boot. They were so 
preoccupied that the entrance of Tommy and 
William was scarcely noticed, and they went 
and sat down in their places without a word. 

A few minutes later Mr. Colquhoun arrived, 
and said the usual prayer, in which the class 
joined with quite unusual fervor. But instead 
of beginning the lesson in the ordinary way, 
Mr. Colquhoun took out his pocket handker- 
chief and blew his nose violently, then he 
cleared his throat and rearranged the three 
pieces of chalk. The class watched these un- 
accustomed maneuvers in awful silence. 

“Boys,” said Mr. Colquhoun at length, not 
quite in his usual voice and with some hesita- 
tion, “I have, I am sorry to say, some very sad 
news to tell you. Poor little Attwood — er — 
met last night with a very serious accident while 
climbing over the wall at the back of the college 
playground. Father Genicot asks you to pray 
for him. I am sure — er — all will.” Then he 
stopped suddenly, and there was a deathly 
silence in the room. Potter at length put the 


222 The Tragedy Deepens 

question that every one wanted to ask, but no 
one liked to. “Please, sir,” he said, “is he in 
any danger?” 

“I fear so. Potter,” answered Mr. Colqu- 
houn, who was obviously very much upset. 
“News of the accident has only just arrived at 
the college, and no details are known yet. 
Father Genicot wants to see you in his room 
at once, Browne,” he added, turning to Tommy. 

Immediately some twenty-five pairs of eyes 
were turned upon Tommy, who got up at once 
in a dazed sort of way and walked slowly to the 
door. He could feel the eyes even after he 
got outside, and he has never forgotten the look 
in them. Most of us get through life without 
ever being stared at in that way. 

At the door of Father Genicot’s office he 
paused for a moment and tried to pull himself 
together a little, because he was trembling all 
over and could hardly keep his teeth from chat- 
tering. Inside he heard the voice of Dr. 
Whales, which did not tend to reassure him 
much. Like most of his fellows in the lower 
school he was undisguisedly and whole- 
heartedly afraid of Dr. Whales. 

Still, it was no use waiting. It had to be 
done, and he knocked at the door. But the 
knock was so extremely modest that the voice 


The Tragedy Deepens 223 

of Dr. Whales entirely swallowed it up, and it 
wasn’t heard. He knocked again rather louder. 

“Come in, there, come in,” came cracking 
through the door like a pistol shot, and Tommy 
went in. The Reverend Dr. Whales was at 
all times an impressive figure, being six feet 
high and broad in proportion, but at that mo- 
ment he looked positively terrific. The boys 
had several pet names for him (to use the word 
advisedly, for he was very popular with them) , 
the “Bird of Prey” or just simply the “Bird” 
or “Birdie” being the most suggestive. In mo- 
ments of excitement or enthusiasm he used to 
wave his arms about a good deal, and looked 
very much like a great black eagle on the watch 
for its prey. And Tommy, as he went in and 
looked timidly up at this tremendous appari- 
tion, might fittingly have been compared to a 
sparrow or other small fowl on whom the 
mighty bird was about to swoop. Tommy 
glanced appealingly at Father Genicot, who 
was sitting at his desk and looking at him, but 
Father Genicot’s face was almost as stern as 
that of Dr. Whales, and showed no trace of 
sympathy or encouragement. 

“Come here, Browne,” said Dr. Whales, 
pausing in his walk (he was striding, as his 
custom was, up and down the room). “Come 


224 


The Tragedy Deepens 


here, I have to speak to you on a very serious 
matter, mind, and Heaven help you if you 
don’t tell me the exact truth!” Tommy gasped, 
but said nothing. 

“Were you with Attwood last night, Browne ? 
Yes or no, nothing else, mind, nothing else,” 
he spurted out. 

“Yes, Father,” gasped Tommy. 

“Were you with him when he climbed over 
the wall?” Dr. Whales extended a long arm 
in Tommy’s direction, and looked so awful that 
he could not at first get out a word. “Yes, 
Father,” he managed to stammer at last. 

“Did you see him after he had fallen?” pur- 
sued Dr. Whales, and Tommy again assented. 

“And you left him lying there, did you, 
Browne — you left him lying there, and didn’t 
go for help?” Tommy nodded and shrank back 
as Dr. Whales stooped forward toward him. 
He thought he was going to be seized hold of, 
and instinctively put up his arm, but it was 
something worse than that. “Heaven help you, 
boy,” said Dr. Whales, “Heaven help you. Do 
you know you’ve as good as murdered the poor 
lad?” 

At these awful words all the pent-up grief 
and horror in Tommy’s soul burst out, and he 
gave a sort of wail (you must remember he 


The Tragedy Deepens 225 

was only a small boy, after all), and began to 
sob and cry and leaned up against the wall, 
hiding his face. Dr. Whales commenced strid- 
ing up and down the room again, muttering, 
‘‘Silly fool,” but the abusive words, let me 
hasten to explain, were addressed to himself, 
not to Tommy, and he made a gesture in Father 
Genicot’s direction, indicating that he resigned 
all further conduct of the matter into his hands. 
Father Genicot acted with his usual circum- 
spection. He waited for a few minutes, and 
then called Tommy by his Christian name, and 
made him stand close by his chair, and put one 
hand on his shoulder by way of encouragement. 
Dr. Whales looked on gloomily from afar. He 
was angry with himself and ready to do pen- 
ance, being, in spite of appearances, a kind- 
hearted man. 

“Now, Tommy, you’ll answer everything I 
ask you, won’t you?” said Father Genicot in 
his most benevolent tone, and Tommy sob- 
bingly promised. 

“You were friends with Attwood, weren’t 
you, quite good friends?” 

“N-no, Father,” said the weeping Tommy, 
and Father Genicot began to feel uncomfort- 
able. 

“But you weren’t out of pax with him, were 


226 


The Tragedy Deepens 


you?” he continued; ''you hadn’t got any 
grudge against him, Tommy?” 

“Y-yes, Father,” said Tommy, thinking of 
nothing less than of defending himself . Father 
Genicot paused for a moment. A less wise and 
experienced man would have jumped to a rash 
conclusion at once (with goodness knows what 
disastrous consequences), and would have 
thought the next question quite superfluous or 
perhaps have feared to put it. 

“Why did you run away. Tommy? Why 
didn’t you call for help?” he asked, and drew 
Tommy a little nearer to him. 

“B-because I th-thought he was 1-laughin’ at 
me,” sobbed Tommy. Dr. Whales snorted, 
but F ather Genicot knew that they were being 
given truth of a sort that only the innocent and 
clean of heart can give, and with a few more 
judicious questions had the state of the case 
perfectly clear, to the admiration and astonish- 
ment of Dr. Whales. Then he set to work to 
comfort Tommy, who needed comfort hadlj^ 
and succeeded as well as could be expected, and 
sent him back to the school room almost re- 
stored to his right mind. 

“Father James,” said Dr. Whales in an im- 
pressive voice as soon as Tommy had departed, 
“you’re a wonderful man. I don’t know why 


The Tragedy Deepens 


227 


they made me head master with you knocking 
about the premises. Father Genicot took a 
small pinch of snuff (his only vice) and looked 
modestly deprecating. But I should not be 
surprised if in his heart of hearts he was won- 
dering the same thing. For, to use for a mo- 
ment the language of our heroes, Dr. Whales’ 
blunder had been a most hideous blunder, and 
he certainly ought to have known better. 


CHAPTER XV 


DISSOLUTION OF THE BROTHERHOOD 

O F ALL the odious and detestable things that 
people do, there are few more altogether 
odious, more completely detestable than the act 
of listening at keyholes to hear what is going 
on inside. If ever you find any one doing that, 
dear sir or madam, go straight up to him 
and kick (or otherwise assault) him as hard as 
you can ; kick him, no matter how big he is. It 
will be an act of true charity, and even if he 
turns and kicks you back again (as he very 
probably may do), you will have suffered in a 
good cause and your scars will be honorable. 
I say this solemnly and with all deliberation. 
For boys or men who listen at doors, and thank 
God I have met very few of them in my life, 
the only course possible, the only course dic- 
tated by charity, is to kick them often and kick 
them hard. If the process has no other result, 
you will at least have made them understand 
that you disapprove of their proceedings. 

This digression is by way of an apology, for 
it is now my painful duty to introduce (only 
for a moment or two ; I shall bundle him off the 
228 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 229 

stage as soon as possible) a boy who committed 
this mean and ugly offense. He was going 
down the corridor at the moment Tommy en- 
tered Father Genicot’s office, and he waited 
outside and listened. I will not tell you his 
name, nor yet what class he was in. Suffice it 
to say that he was old enough to have known 
better, and if some one had caught him at it 
and have acted in the way I have suggested, a 
great deal of unnecessary suffering would have 
been avoided. 

For he overheard Dr. Whales’ unfortunate 
remark about “as good as murdering him,” and 
he did not stop to listen to Father Genicot’s 
less sensational cross-questioning. He went 
back to his school room and let it be known that 
Dr. Whales had been heard shouting at the top 
of his voice (that exaggeration was necessary, 
you see — it was so loud that he could not help 
hearing him) that Tommy Browne was a mur- 
derer. Things of that sort travel rapidly in a 
school, and indeed in other places besides 
schools. It flew from mouth to mouth during 
the intervals of changing classes, and by the 
time for morning recess it became a well-estab- 
lished fact. Various and somewhat contra- 
dictory details were given, but it was generally 
agreed that Tommy had pushed him off the 


230 Dissolution of the Brotherhood 


wall at the back of the college, having pre- 
viously lured him thither in some manner un- 
defined. In the lower forms they took it for 
granted that he would be hanged, the Seconds 
and Thirds wavered between hanging and 
penal servitude for life, the Fourths still be- 
lieved in transportation to Australia, while the 
Fifths and Sixths considered that the most 
likely penalty would be several years in a re- 
formatory. But one and all left off regarding 
him as an ordinary boy, and a few considered 
that even the above drastic penalties would be 
insufficient to meet the heinousness of the 
offense. Attwood had a good many friends 
among the boys of his own age, for, besides be- 
ing a mathematician, he was good-tempered 
and enterprising, as witness his ill-fated at- 
tempt to bring their guilt home to the Black 
Brothers. These friends, among whom Potter 
was one of the most faithful, considered that 
hanging would be much too good for Tommy, 
' and when, at the beginning of recess, he tried 
to escape to the washing place, they headed 
him off and forced him to go into the play- 
ground, in the hopes that something would be 
done to him. 

In this hope they were disappointed, for 
the prevailing sentiments were curiosity and 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 231 

horror. Curiosity made them ask questions, 
to which they got only “yes’s” and “no’s,” and 
horror made them gather round him and stare 
in silence, just as sheep get round a wounded 
sheep and do nothing but stare. Some told 
him he would be hanged, and some asked him 
if he thought he would be hanged, but there 
was no feeling of indignation against him, the 
horror swallowed that up. When Potter, by 
way of an experiment, pulled off Tommy’s cap 
and threw it on the ground, he was immediately 
suppressed. It was instinctively felt that that 
was not the proper way to deal with a case like 
this. One or two boys were almost sympathetic 
and gave him advice as to how to conduct his 
defense, recommending him to get Sir Alger- 
non Bickerstiffe, K.C., if he could — Sir Al- 
gernon having figured largely in a recent 
murder case. 

To Tommy himself it began to seem more 
and more like a bad dream, and the one thing 
he longed for was to get away from the solemn, 
staring eyes, and for some one to speak to him 
as though he were ordinary Tommy Browne 
once more. He looked round anxiously again 
and again in hopes of seeing William or even 
Alexander, but neither appeared to be in the 
playground. In this he was mistaken; they 


232 Dissolution of the Brotherhood 

were both there, but kept carefully away from 
the c|-owd round Tommy. 

Alexander, as a matter of fact, was trying 
to convince William that what they ought to 
do was to leave Tommy to his fate. Their 
owning up would not make things any better 
for Tommy, and there was no reason why they 
should all be hanged or sent to a reformatory. 
If any questions were asked about William 
coming home late, he (Alexander) would say 
he had been with him and that they had both 
been down to the docks. Alexander, as you 
may suppose, was in a horrible fright, and did 
his level best to persuade William, and thought 
he had succeeded. He drew a harrowing pic- 
ture of the distress of William’s family when 
the news arrived, felt sure that his own aunt 
would die of the shock, and very likely Will- 
iam’s mother, too, so it seemed to be a positive 
duty not to say anything. William answered 
nothing and, as I say, appeared to be agreeing. 
Alexander felt so sure that he had succeeded 
that, to allay suspicion, he proposed that they 
should join the crowd round Tommy. 

It was an unfortunate move. Alexander was 
clever, but there were a great many things he 
did not understand, among them that with 
some people there may be more powerful mo- 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 233 

tives in life than the desire to save their own 
skin. For when William saw Tommy looking 
dumbly round at his tormentors, and answer- 
ing '‘y^s” and “no” to their awful questions, he 
suddenly made up his mind for himself. Ignor- 
ing Alexander, he began to push through the 
crowd toward Tommy. Alexander seized his 
arm, but he shook him off angrily and con- 
tinued to push forward. In a minute or so he 
was at Tommy’s side. He was welcomed 
eagerly by the crowd. 

“He won’t tell us anything, Billy,” said 
Potter. “You see if you can make him.” 
William’s heart began to beat at a terrific pace, 
but he answered quite steadily. “Don’t want 
to,” he said; “know all about it misself.” 

The crowd gathered in more closely. They 
were going to hear something at last, it seemed. 
Tommy had probably taken William into his 
confidence. 

“Go it, Billy, has he told you?” said some- 
body excitedly. William was standing close to 
Tommy now, and out of sight behind he felt 
Tommy’s hot hand creep into his. There was 
a moment’s pause. 

“ ’Cos I was in it, same as Tommy,” he said 
bravely enough, though the tears started to his 
eyes as he spoke. 


234 Dissolution of the Brotherhoods 

When he said that the crowd drew away a 
little and left them standing side by side, and 
no one spoke for a few moments. “Some one’d 
better go and fetch his brother,” said an awe- 
struck voice, and it is to be supposed that some- 
body did, for a very little while afterward 
Matthew appeared on the scene. He strode 
through the crowd, which made way for him on 
both sides, and so right up to where William 
and Tommy stood. 

“What’s this, Billy?” he said in his best pre- 
fectorial voice. “You were with Attwood, too, 
last night?” 

“Yes, Matt,” said William meekly. He was 
glad he had done it now, and gripped Tommy’s 
hand tighter. 

“And you had something to do with his get- 
ting hurt?” said Matthew. William nodded. 

“Please, May,” said a voice from the crowd, 
“he said he was in it same as Tommy.” 

“You kids just cut off,” said Matthew, turn- 
ing suddenly round. They moved off about 
half a foot and Matthew promptly cuffed two 
or three heads. Then they moved off further. 

“Does Daddy know, Billy?” asked Matthew, 
not in the prefectorial voice this time, and 
William shook his head. 

“Well, you’d better come and tell him, then,” 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 235 

said Matthew. “Tommy can come, too,” and 
he promptly led the way out of the play- 
ground, Tommy and William obediently fol- 
lowing. When they had got clear of it he sud- 
denly stopped. 

“Did they find out or did you own up on 
your own, Billy?” he asked, but William made 
no answer. 

“Please, May, he came up and did it on his 
own,” said Tommy, “didn’t you, Billy?” Will- 
iam, for no particular reason that I can see, 
began to mop his eyes. 

“The Governor’ll be glad you did that, 
Billy,” said Matthew, and continued the jour- 
ney to Father Genicot’s room. 

Father Genicot was in, and did not seem at 
all surprised when William made his con- 
fession. He made it thoroughly, making it 
quite clear that he was mostly responsible for 
not letting Attwood have his boot and bringing 
in even the damaged blackboard, though that 
seemed a very small and unimportant matter 
now. Father Genicot said he had just been 
to see Attwood, and that he was in great pain, 
but the doctor couldn’t say exactly yet how 
serious the injury was, and that there was to 
be a further examination in the afternoon. 
Then he sent them away, telling them that they 


236 Dissolution of the Brotherhood 


need not go back to the playground. As they 
were going out he beckoned to Matthew to 
stop. 

“Matt,” he said when the door was closed, 
“you must try to help your little brother 
through this.” He spoke so gravely that 
Matthew looked up in alarm. “Is he — is he 
going to die, Father?” he asked in an awe- 
struck voice. 

“I hope and pray not,” said Father Genicot, 
“but I’m afraid he’s terribly hurt, poor little 
boy, and unless the doctor has made a mistake 
things look very bad. It’ll be a dreadful blow 
to Willy if anything happens. You can 
tell your mother, but don’t tell Willy just 
yet.” 

“Will he be tried, or anjdhing?” asked 
Matthew anxiously, and Father Genicot said 
that that of course was out of the question. 
“But he’ll blame himself. Matt,” he said, “and 
he’s at an age when it’s difficult to see things 
in their right proportion.” 

“He owned up of his own accord,” said 
Matthew rather huskily. “Lots of kids would 
have been afraid.” 

“Not Captain May’s kids, I fancy,” said 
Father Genicot with a smile, and Matthew 
smiled back again. Father Genicot and Cap- 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 237 

tain May were old friends. “When’s the ship 
due in?” he asked. 

“Not for a month yet, Father,” said 
Matthew, and Father Genicot sighed. 

“Well, look after him, Matt,” he said, “and 
the other poor little beggar, too, if you can. 
He’ll want help as much as Willy.” Matthew 
promised, and went away not a little troubled. 
He and William might not have appeared to 
the casual observer to be extraordinarily de- 
voted to each other, but things like this are real 
revelations. 

He waited for William after morning school 
and offered to go home first and tell them about 
it. William gratefully accepted; the first in- 
terview with his mother was one of the things 
he had been dreading. “Don’t you be a coward, 
Billy,” said Matthew reassuringly; “the mater 
won’t be down on you, and I’ll tell her you 
owned up on your own.” But in spite of this 
encouragement William was desperately fright- 
ened, and grew more and more so the nearer he 
got to No. 5 Roscommon Street. He gave 
Matthew a good quarter of an hour’s start, so 
that he should have plenty of time to explain 
matters. Tommy, it was arranged, should go 
round to Attwood’s house and see if he could 
pick up any information. He had decided not 


238 Dissolution of the Brotherhood 

to go home to dinner at all, and spent part of 
the four and ninepence on some light refresh- 
ments. He felt somehow that he could not 
explain how matters stood to Mrs. Clementina, 
and that she would think he was sulking. 

When William at last arrived at No. 5 the 
family were at dinner, and when James Arthur, 
whose seat commanded a view of the front door 
step, announced that it was Willy, Mrs. May 
rose from her seat and went to the door. “Go 
on talking, and don’t take any notice,” she said 
to the family in general, and the family did its 
best. The two elder girls and Matthew kept 
up a spasmodic conversation, and Susannah, 
who was inwardly in a state of great agitation, 
devoted herself feverishly to the youngest of 
all, who was still in the high chair and feeder 
stage. James Arthur, “like a well-conducted 
person,” as the poet says, “went on eating bread 
and butter,” only it wasn’t bread and butter, 
but suet pudding. 

William was standing in the hall when his 
mother came out, trying to screw up his cour- 
age to face the family. He looked up anxiously 
as the dining-room door opened, but the hall 
was rather dark and he could not see her face. 
He thought for a moment that Matthew had 
made a mistake, because she came over to him 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 239 

without speaking. And then, almost before 
he knew what had happened, he was in the 
place made specially by God for little boys 
whose troubles are too big for them, and get- 
ting the comfort he so sadly needed from the 
truest fountain of comfort in the world. 
“Mother’s glad you owned up, Willy, and 
we’ll have a Mass said for him, and ask God 
to make him well,” said Mrs. May, but these 
are only one or two of the wise and comforting 
things she said, things that won’t go down in 
writing because they are hardly words at all. 
She may have been a holy terror with a mascu- 
line temperament, but at times like this one 
mother is worth all the maiden aunts that ever 
brewed weak tea. 

As for Tommy, he went mournfully, and 
still in a rather dazed condition, to Attwood’s 
house, and stood for a long time gazing at it 
from the other side of the street. There was 
absolutely nothing to tell of the dreadful 
tragedy passing within, and when a baker’s cart 
stopped in front of it, the baker’s man rang the 
bell in quite the ordinary way and stood whist- 
ling at the door as though everything were 
just as usual. He speculated as to which win- 
dow was the window of the room where Att- 
wood was lying, and tried to draw consolation 


240 Dissolution of the Brotherhood 

from the fact that all the blinds were up. If 
Attwood were actually dying, surely some of 
them would have been pulled down. But then 
of course he might be in one of the rooms at 
the back, and they might have forgotten about 
the front windows. If any one had come out 
of the house he meant to ask him how things 
were going, but no one did, and after waiting 
a long time, and making a fruitless attempt to 
get a view of the back of the premises, he aban- 
doned his watch and went to a restaurant in 
a neighboring street, where he had a frugal 
lunch, which cost altogether only sixpence. He 
was just on the point of spending the odd 
threepence on some variegated chocolates by 
way of cheering himself up when the sight of 
a plate of bananas suggested an idea. Bananas 
were good for invalids, and he bought six- 
pennyworth and took them round to Attwood’s 
house. He rang the bell and gave them to the 
servant when she came, and said, “Please, is he 
any better ?” The servant did not think he was, 
but did not seem very inclined to be communi- 
cative, and shut the door as soon as possible. He 
caught a glimpse of a hospital nurse inside, 
which made his heart sink. 

At school in the afternoon things were very 
much the same as they had been in the morning. 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 241 

except that now he had William at his side, 
and the crowd had two to stare at instead of 
one. The master left them considerately 
alone, and the whole class seemed strangely 
cowed and depressed, Attwood’s vacant place 
appearing to exercise a strange, hypnotic in- 
fluence over them. No one seemed inclined to 
speak above a whisper, and even when they had 
to answer questions they did it in a very low 
and subdued voice. Several of them before 
they went home put up candles before the 
Lady statue in the church. 

At the end of school Tommy and William 
went to Father Genicot’s office to see if he had 
any news, but he was not in, and no one could 
tell them anything of his whereabouts. As 
they were coming away they met Alexander, 
who looked exceedingly uncomfortable when 
he saw them, and glanced furtively over his 
shoulder to see if he were being observed. 
When he had assured himself that no one was 
watching he came up and spoke. ‘T say. 
Tommy,” he said hurriedly, in a low voice, “you 
won’t split on me, will you? Swear you won’t 
split.” Tommy made no answer, but looked 
sorrowfully at the speaker. You are a 
coward, Aleck,” said William with conviction. 
“I wouldn’t be such a coward to save my life ” 


242 Dissolution of the Brotherhood 

“I’m not,” said Alexander. “It’s — it’s be- 
cause of my aunt; she’s — she’s awful delicate, 
you know she is, Billy.” 

“No, it isn’t,” answered William uncompro- 
misingly. “It’s because of yourself, you dirty 
little sneaking coward. If you want to stop 
being a Black Brother, why don’t you say so?” 

Alexander paused a moment. “Yes, I do,” 
he said, “if you’ll swear not to split.” 

“All ri’,” answered William, “we’ll swear 
not to split, won’t we. Tommy?” Tommy did 
not answer at once. Strange as you may think 
it, he was really fond of Alexander, and looked 
up to him in a way. “Aren’t you really goin’ to 
back us up, Aleck?” he said at last rather wist- 
fully. “We’ve always backed you up.” 

“No, I’m not,” answered Alexander hotly, 
“and it’s beastly unfair of you to ask me. I 
hadn’t anything to do with the silly plan, and 
it wasn’t me that wouldn’t give Atty back his 
boot, and now you want to get me dropped on 
jus’ because you’re going to be, and Billy goes 
and calls me names because I won’t.” 

“I’d cry about it if I were you,” said William 
scornfully. “Did urns then, poor little Aleck?” 

Alexander glared wrathfully at the speaker, 
and had serious thoughts of violent measures 
of retaliation. But only for a moment; the in- 


Dissolution of the Brotherhood 243 

stinct of self-preservation rapidly asserted it- 
self. “Mind, you’ve sworn not to split, Billy,” 
he said; “you can’t back out of it now.” 

“Don’t call me Billy,” said William furi- 
ously. “I’ll never speak to you again as long 
as I live, nor will Tommy, will you. Tommy?” 
Tommy shook his head more in sorrow than in 
anger, seeing that the once trusted brother was 
indeed bent upon desertion. 

“You’re not a Black Brother any more,” said 
William; “you’re kicked out.” 

“Who cares?” said Alexander loftily. “I’ll 
tell all the chaps about your mother spankin’ 
you.” 

“You can,” said William; “they’ll only think 
you a more dirty sneak than they did before.” 
And with that they parted, as you see, in deep 
anger. The Black Brotherhood, that strange, 
mysterious association, had for the moment 
ceased to exist. For the union between Tommy 
and William now was something more than a 
union between two Black Brothers. 


CHAPTER XVI 


UNCLE JAMES 

T ommy and William determined to go round 
to Attwood’s house to see if they could 
get any news as to what the result of the exam- 
ination had been. But on the way thither they 
met Father Genicot, who told them that the 
doctors had only just begun, and that the re- 
sult was to be sent to him as soon as it was 
known, and that if they would come round to 
the college about half past six he would let 
them know what there was to be known. He 
asked them if they had said any prayers for 
Attwood, and curiously enough they had to 
answer “no.” They had up till now been too 
stupefied by the shock to pray, but when 
Father Genicot suggested that it might be a 
good thing, and that now was the time, they 
fell in with it at once and went off together to 
the College Church. When they came out 
Tommy said he would have to go home now, 
and made William promise, in case he should 
not turn up at half -past six, to come to his 
house and tell him the news. He was not quite 
sure what the result of his staying away from 
244 


Uncle James 


245 


dinner would be, and thought it quite possible 
that he might be kept prisoner for the rest of 
the day. William promised faithfully to do 
so, and considerately asked no questions. Then 
they parted, little dreaming how different 
things would be when they met again, and how 
tragic the circumstances of that meeting. 

All the way home Tommy was trying to 
make up his mind what he would do. If Mrs. 
Clementina was still indignant it would be very 
difficult to tell her, and, on the other hand, if 
he did not tell her, she would certainly think he 
was sulking. He was still undecided when he 
reached the front door of Laburnam Villa. He 
opened it as noiselessly as possible, and directly 
he opened it he saw a formidable sight. On 
the very artistic hat-stand hung a large top 
hat, and leaning against one of the equally 
artistic hall chairs was a large umbrella. If 
they had been tigers crouched to spring, or an 
infuriated Zulu with an assegai poised in the 
air, they could scarcely have caused him more 
alarm and consternation. He stood as though 
spellbound, gazing at these (in themselves) 
harmless and even useful objects. For every 
glossy inch of the top hat, every mathemat- 
ically accurate line in the neatly folded um- 
brella proclaimed the presence of Uncle James, 


246 


Uncle James 


Uncle James was the rich uncle I have 
already referred to. By profession he was a 
chartered accountant, and by religion a Non- 
conformist, and here let me say at once, as he 
will appear in these pages in a somewhat un- 
favorable light, that he was a thoroughly good, 
honorable. God-fearing man, well-meaning and 
charitable according to his lights. If, like Dr. 
Whales, he did later on a very cruel thing, he 
did it entirely without malice. He managed 
all Mrs. Clementina’s business matters for her 
free of charge, and he would have paid for 
Tommy’s schooling if his mother would have 
consented to his going to a non-Catholic school. 
But in spite of her poverty, Mrs. Clementina 
was firm on this point. The wishes of Tommy’s 
father were sacred to her. 

But in spite of all his virtues and his readi- 
ness to help, it is probable that Uncle James 
did not approve of Tommy, and it is undubi- 
tably certain that Tommy did not approve of 
Uncle James. Apart from the fact that from 
his earliest infancy Uncle James had been held 
up to him (mostly by Mrs. Golightly) as a 
model to be imitated, an example of virtue 
crowned by success, a paragon of perfection 
who had, in his youth, never worn out his trous- 
ers or come into the hall with muddy boots or 


Uncle James 


247 


held his knife and fork in an unorthodox man- 
ner, his actual visits had, especially in recent 
years, been nearly always times of suffering 
and misfortune. For Uncle James, mainly 
with a view to proving that Tommy was not 
being properly taught, had contracted the in- 
tolerable habit of subjecting his unhappy 
nephew to viva voce examinations in mathe-- 
matics. Now, mathematics, as I have hinted 
earlier in this story, was not Tommy’s strong 
subject, and he generally made a pretty bad 
mess of Uncle James’s conundrums. The more 
hopelessly he floundered, the more remorse- 
lessly his examiner pressed his irritating ques- 
tions, and whenever Tommy made a more than 
usually appalling blunder he would glance with 
uplifted eyebrows at Mrs. Clementina, who 
would in turn look reproachfully at Tommy 
and shake her head with the air of a pained 
senior Wrangler, though it must be admitted 
that her own attainments in this branch of 
learning were of the slenderest, and she always 
added up her accounts on her fingers. Once or 
twice, goaded beyond endurance. Tommy had 
lost his temper and been sent out of the room, 
and that of course proved Uncle James’ point 
still more conclusively. “That lad is being 
neglected shamefully, Clementina,” he would 


248 


Uncle James 


say with conviction. “When I was his age, I 
assure you,” and so on, and so on. But I wish 
he could have had a few words with Dr. 
Whales on the subject, or even with Mr. Col- 
quhoun ! 

So now, perhaps, you will understand, at 
least in part, why the sight of Uncle James’ 
top hat and umbrella affected Tommy so pain- 
fully. He stood rooted to the ground, staring 
at them, and debating whether it would be 
better to fly or to creep upstairs and hide in 
the bathroom. He was still undecided when 
the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Golightly 
came out. When she saw Tommy she (as 
usual) sighed deeply, and without speak- 
ing, went to the studio door, tapped and 
opened it. “Master Tommy’s come, mum,” 
she said, and then Tommy abandoned himself 
to his fate, and when she beckoned to him, 
obeyed and entered the studio. 

Uncle James and Mrs. Clementina were 
taking afternoon tea together, and Uncle 
James was in the act of drinking. He put his 
cup down solemnly on the little table near him 
when he saw Tommy and held out a large, 
white hand. “How do you do, Thomas,” he 
said in a deep voice. “Come here, my boy, I 
want to talk to you.” Tommy came and 


Uncle James 


249 


shook hands rather sheepishly, only to find that 
his uncle had secured firm hold of his coat. It 
was the usual preliminary to one of the hated 
examinations. 

“What’s this I hear about you, Thomas?” 
continued his uncle, and gazed at him search- 
ingly. But as Tommy did not know (although 
he may have guessed) he made no answer. 

“Did you give Father Genicot my letter, 
Thomas?” said Mrs. Clementina from the other 
side, and Tommy answered in a very sulky 
voice that he had. 

“Oh, come! come! come!” said Uncle James, 
accompanying his words with a slight shake. 
“That will never do ; that’s not the way to speak 
to your mother. Haven’t you been taught the 
fifth commandment, Thomas?” 

“And I hope he gave you a good whipping, 
Thomas,” chimed in Mrs. Clementina, anxious 
to avoid a dangerous subject. “Did he?” 
Tommy made no answer, for those are not the 
sort of questions that ought to be asked, least 
of all where there are Uncle Jameses present. 

“Answer your mother at once, Thomas,” 
said Uncle James, with another shake, more 
vigorous this time, but Tommy still kept silence 
and glared defiantly at his captor. 

“Oh, Thomas, how can you be so naughty?” 


250 


Uncle James 


said Mrs. Clementina, aimoyed that her ma- 
ternal authority should be thus disregarded. 
But still Tommy held his tongue and pressed 
his lips together to signify that he intended to 
maintain that attitude. Uncle J ames drew out 
an enormous gold watch with a very loud tick, 
and glanced at it. ‘Til give you half a minute 
to answer, Thomas,” he said, “and then we 
shall know what to do,” and he glanced signifi- 
cantly at Mrs. Clementina. But a hundred 
such threats would not just then have drawn a 
reply from Tommy. Uncle James took a sip 
from his teacup and then glanced at his watch 
again. “Time’s up,” he declared, and he again 
looked in the direction of his sister-in-law. Mrs. 
Clementina rose from her chair and solemnly 
rang the bell. A moment later Mrs. Golightly 
appeared at the door. 

“Mrs. Golightly,” said Tommy’s mother in a 
solemn voice, “will you kindly pack a portman- 
teau with Master Tommy’s things ? Please get 
it ready at once.” 

“And call a cab, please, too,” Uncle James 
chimed in in his deepest bass — “a four-wheel 
cab.” 

“Yes, mum, yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Go- 
lightly with her usual air of resigned sorrow, 
and immediately withdrew. Tommy’s eyes be- 


Uncle James 


251 


gan to open wide. This was more than he had 
bargained for, a good deal. 

‘‘Your uncle’s going to take you home with 
him, Thomas,” said Mrs. Clementina, “and is 
going to try to teach you to be a better boy. I 
don’t want any wicked, disobedient Blugginses 
in my house.” 

This startling information took Tommy so 
completely by surprise that for a moment he 
was too astonished to speak or do anything. 
Then he began to realize the horror of it, and 
without more ado jerked himself free and 
bolted. The door was ajar, and he did it so 
quickly that he was in the hall before they fully 
grasped what had happened. Then Uncle 
James sprang from his seat, upsetting the table 
with his teacup on it in the process, and gave 
chase, Mrs. Clementina following behind. The 
front door was closed and rather difficult to 
open quickly, and Mrs. Golightly in the kitchen 
made the back door impracticable. The only 
possible lines of retreat were therefore reduced 
to the dining-room and the stairs. The dining- 
room being a cul de sac with impracticable win- 
dows, he chose the stairs, and went up them 
three steps at a time till he got on the top land- 
ing. His pursuers halted at the foot, and he 
heard his mother calling to Mrs. Golightly. 


252 


Uncle James 


The top landing was almost as hopeless a 
blind alley as the dining-room, for the skylight 
leading out to the roof could only be reached 
with a ladder, and the two attics, though they 
had locks, were unprovided with keys. It was 
too late to go back, however, and seek a safer 
shelter, for already the firm step of Mrs. Go- 
lightly could be heard on the landing below. 
Capture seemed only a matter of seconds — and 
with capture the appalling prospect of being 
delivered over and handed to Uncle James — 
when suddenly fortune, so to speak, thrust into 
Tommy’s hands a powerful and most unlooked- 
for weapon of defense, one which enabled him 
to bring Mrs. Golightly’s upward progress to 
a sudden and permanent standstill. 

I have, I think, previously hinted that Mrs. 
Clementina Browne was extremely nervous on 
the subject of fire. It was partly on account 
of this that she had attached such importance to 
Tommy’s promise not to read in bed. Among 
the precautions against the dreaded element she 
had placed at convenient spots in her house a 
number of Patent Imperial Squelch-it-out 
Hand Fire Extinguishers. They were painted 
red and shaped like a half -open umbrella, and 
you had only to press a handle at the broad end 
to make a jet of fire-extinguishing fluid spout 


Uncle James 


253 


out from the point. Now, one of these ma- 
chines was, as it happened, placed on the top 
landing, and as Mrs. Golightly’s head appeared 
round the corner Tommy caught sight of it, 
and with a grasp of the situation worthy of 
Alexander himself, seized it in both arms and 
presented it at the enemy. Mrs. Golightly saw 
it and at once stopped short at the foot of the 
last flight of stairs. Pursuer and pursued eyed 
each other in silence, and Mrs. Golightly (need 
I say it?) sighed. 

“Put that thing down. Master Tommy,” she 
said a little anxiously. “Now, be a good boy, 
do,” she added after a pause, becoming more 
conscious of the difficulty of the situation. 
Tommy, for reply, sat down on the top step 
(the extinguisher was rather heavy) and aimed 
the nozzle carefully at Mrs. Golightly’s head. 

“Put it down, there’s a love,” said Mrs. Go- 
lightly with so much ill-concealed hypocrisy 
that Tommy’s anger was aroused. “I’ll let it 
off if you come any further,” he said quietly 
but firmly. Mrs. Golightly, shaking her head 
reprovingly and recklessly, made a step in ad- 
vance. “Look out, then!” cried Tommy, and 
raised the weapon slightly. His pursuer again 
stopped short. 

You may take it for granted that at every 


254 


Uncle James 


point in the subsequent proceedings Mrs. Go- 
lightly sighed (with varying degrees of in- 
tensity), so I shall not mention the fact again. 
Being sadly deficient in imagination, the possi- 
bility of any other course than that of an un- 
masked frontal attack did not occur to her. 
Accordingly she halted irresolutely and stood 
gazing helplessly at the threatened apparition 
alone. How long she would have thus remained 
I can not even guess, a long time probably, for 
she was very patient. But suddenly from be- 
low the voice of Mrs. Clementina startled her 
into activity. “What ever is the matter, Mrs. 
Golightly?” that lady’s voice was heard inquir- 
ing. “Why don’t you bring that naughty boy 
down?” 

Mrs. Golightly retreated a few steps and 
leaned over the banisters. “Please, mum,” 
she called, “I can’t get at him.” 

“What nonsense!^ answered Mrs. Clemen- 
tina. “Tell him 1 sent you.” 

“Your mar sent me,” said Mrs. Golightly, 
obediently but unnecessarily, because the dia- 
logue must have been audible all over Labur- 
nam Villa. Tommy made no reply, but hugged 
the Patent Squelch-it-out a little more closely. 

“Don’t you hear?” repeated Mrs. Golightly, 
not that she could really have entertained any 


Uncle James 


255 


doubt on the subject, but because she could 
think of nothing else to say. “Your mar wants 
you.” 

“Don’t care,” said Tommy defiantly. He 
naturally wasn’t going to let Mrs. Golightly 
think that he felt his position at all insecure. 

“He says he doesn’t care, mum,” repeated 
Mrs. Golightly. A confused murmur contain- 
ing a strong element of Uncle James arose 
from below, and Mrs. Clementina was heard 
ascending the stairs. Tommy’s heart began to 
beat rather fast. 

Mrs. Clementina on arriving on the field of 
battle grasped the situation at once. “Do you 
mean to say, Tummus,” she said, “that you’re 
going to let that thing off and spoil the carpet?” 
she inquired. 

“I won’t if you won’t send me away,” said 
Tommy, offering the only possible term of sur- 
render. 

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Clementina, 
keeping, however, well out of range, for she 
had on a very beautiful tea-gown. “Put it 
down at once.” Tommy shook his head. 

“Do you think I’m going to be dictated to 
by a naughty little boy?” asked Mrs. Clemen- 
tina, without, however, making any forward 
movement. 


256 


Uncle James 


“Be firm, Clementina, be very firm,” came 
booming up from Uncle James below. But it 
was all right for Uncle James to talk. He was 
well out of range. 

Mrs. Clementina turned and descended a 
few steps in the direction of the hall. “James,” 
she called, “lend me your umbrella for a mo- 
ment, please.” Uncle James, extremely mysti- 
fied and under the impression that it was to be 
employed as an instrument of chastisement, 
passed it up, not without inward misgivings, 
for it was a very handsome umbrella. Mrs. 
Clementina returned to the battlefield and un- 
folded it. As a strategist, you will perceive, 
she was infinitely superior to Mrs. Golightly. 

“Now, Mrs. Golightly,” she said, stepping 
into shelter inside an adjoining room, “hold 
that in front of you and you’ll be quite safe.” 

“Yes, mum,” said Mrs. Golightly, but with- 
out any enthusiasm, taking the proffered shel- 
ter and trying to arrange it so as to get as much 
cover as possible. It was a large umbrella, but 
however you held it, it left important regions 
exposed. 

“Go on, go on, dof" said Mrs. Clementina 
from her place of shelter. “What is the good 
of waiting? If you do let it off, Thomas, I’ll 
ask your uncle to thrash you.” Thus urged 


Uncle James 


257 


and encouraged, Mrs. Golightly went on, 
holding the umbrella well before her and duck- 
ing low so as to get as much cover as possible. 
After three steps she paused and peered cau- 
tiously round the edge, but the sight of the 
nozzle pointed full at her made her withdraw 
it rapidly. “For goodness’ sake, go on,” came 
in impatient tones from the rear. 

“If you come another step I’ll fire it off, 
really I will,” cried Tommy in a clear treble 
voice, so clear that Uncle James heard it dis- 
tinctly and wondered what on earth was hap- 
pening. The remark was to some extent in- 
spired by what Sir Vere Vereker says to Cap- 
tain Bludgeon in “The Bloodstained Bowlder.” 
“Is anything wrong, Clementina?” called 
Uncle James. “Shall I come up?” 

“No, no, James, stay where you are,” cried 
Mrs. Clementina in alarm. “Go on, Mrs. Go- 
lightly, for heaven’s sake don’t stop dawdling 
there any longer. Why ever don’t you go on?” 
Mrs. Clementina, you will remember, was out 
of range. 

And then the crisis came. Mrs. Golightly, 
after one pathetic glance to the rear, gallantly 
went on, and crossed the Rubicon, so to speak, 
and mounted another step. Now, if his mother 
had been behind the umbrella I feel sure that 


258 


Uncle James 


Tommy’s sense of duty would have prevailed 
and that he would have surrendered quietly. 
But if you have ever had in your hands any- 
thing, from a pop-gun to a Mauser rifle, that 
will go off, you will remember how irresistible 
the temptation to let it off is. If on the top 
of that you call to mind that the umbrella was 
Uncle James’ umbrella, that it afforded a most 
tempting target, and that Mrs. Golightly, who 
has even in the short space of time covered by 
this narrative behaved more than once with 
(let us be studiously mild) conspicuous want of 
tact, was behind it, you will perhaps be able to 
understand, though certainly not to approve, 
the line of action followed by Tommy. For, 
obeying the instructions printed in large letters 
on the side of the machine, he banged the trig- 
ger hard, and standing up, directed the nozzle 
straight at the center of the advancing um- 
brella. 

The Patent Imperial Squelch-it-out Hand 
Fire Extinguisher did its duty nobly. After a 
premonitory cough, and a sound like steam es- 
caping, it launched forth a jet of flre-extin- 
guishing fluid so vigorously that it poured over 
the edges of the umbrella and onto Mrs. Go- 
lightly’s head. Goaded to madness, and un- 
certain as to the nature of the fluid, she dashed 


Uncle James 


259 


recklessly forward, seized one of Tommy’s legs, 
and dragged him, still hugging the extin- 
guisher, ignominiously down the stairs. The 
umbrella suffered the most, for the nozzle of 
the extinguisher, and also one of Tommy’s feet, 
went right through it, and I should not like 
to say how many ribs were broken. In the 
efforts to save it from further damage Mrs. 
Golightly stumbled and fell, so that when Mrs, 
Clementina, attracted by the noise of the 
scuffle, strayed out from her place of refuge, 
what she saw was a confused heap of Tommy, 
Mrs. Golightly, and battered umbrella, over 
which the Patent Imperial Squelch-it-out was 
impartially, and with gurgles of enjoyment, 
pouring a flood of Are-extinguishing fluid, at 
five shillings a gallon. 

Her first thought was for the carpet. With 
a shriek of horror and dismay, so loud that it 
brought Uncle James three steps upstairs, she 
implored Mrs. Golightly to pick up the ma- 
chine and stay the havoc. “Get up, get up,” 
she cried, frantically wringing her hands and 
gathering up her skirts, and almost dancing 
with impatience. “Look at the carpet, look 
what it’s doing, my new carpet. Oh, the wicked, 
wicked Bluggins! Why don’t you pick it up? 
Can’t you see that it’s being ruined?'^ But when 


260 


Uncle James 


you have been freely besprinkled with a fluid, 
which for all you know may be a dangerous 
and corrosive acid, and which is trickling down 
your face, new carpets, however precious, cease 
to occupy the first place in your attention. In- 
stead of dashing to the rescue, Mrs. Golightly 
sat up and mournfully mopped her face with 
her apron. It was Tommy, now thoroughly 
frightened and subdued, who first rose to his 
feet and tried to stop the damage. He picked 
up the extinguisher and put his finger in front 
of the nozzle, in the vain hope of staying the 
flow. But like the man in the Arabian Nights, 
he found he had raised a spirit too strong for 
him. Instead of stopping, it gave a grunt of 
delight and sportively sent forth a spray in all 
directions, besprinkling the walls, the ceiling, 
and, horror of horrors! even Mrs. Clementina 
herself. A few drops even went over the ban- 
isters and fell on the bald part of Uncle James’ 
head. 

Mrs. Clementina’s shriek of horror was so 
awful that Tommy dropped the Patent 
Squelch-it-out and almost fell downstairs. It 
had the further effect of recalling Mrs. Go- 
lightly to her senses, too. She scrambled to her 
feet, seized the extinguisher, and carried it to 
the nearest window, where, with many coughs 


Uncle James 


261 


and gurgles of enjoyment, it disgorged what 
remained of its contents upon a flower-bed in 
the neighboring garden. Mr. Appleby, the 
proprietor, was subsequently much puzzled to 
know why the flowers in that bed (a particu- 
larly choice variety of calceolaria) withered up 
suddenly and died. 

Mrs. Clementina watched the operation from 
afar, and only when all was safe did she sally 
forth again. Then she went up to Tommy, 
and without any preparatory cotton wool this 
time, boxed his ears as soundly as any small 
boy’s ears were ever boxed. Then she picked 
up Uncle James’ umbrella, and hooking the 
handle into the collar of Tommy’s coat, pushed 
him ignominiously in front of her downstairs. 
Uncle James retreated before them (the second 
shriek had brought him up three steps more) 
and stood in the hall exclaiming, “Good 
heavens! God bless my soul!” and other such 
expressions of surprise and displeasure, eyeing 
the while not so much Tommy or his indignant 
mother as the forlorn and desecrated umbrella. 

Mrs. Clementina deposited Tommy in the 
middle of the hall, where he stood dripping with 
fire-extinguishing fluid, and forlornly mopping 
his eyes with a very damp pocket handkerchief. 
She then seated herself on the stairs, and Uncle 


262 


Uncle James 


James, seeing that an explanation was coming, 
established himself on one of the artistic hall 
chairs. They sat there in silence for a little 
while gazing at Tommy, around whom a reg- 
ular pool was rapidly collecting. 

“Look at that boy, James,” said Mrs. Clem- 
entina at last. “Look at him well. You might 
think he was sorry, but he isn’t. He’s thinking 
of other ways of ruining me, that’s what he’s 
doing. If you hear one fine morning that we’ve 
all been burned in our beds, you’ll know what 
it means.” She paused tragically, and Tommy 
gave an incoherent gasp which might have 
meant anything. 

“For twelve years and more,” continued 
Mrs. Clementina, pointing at the culprit, “for 
twelve long, weary years have I toiled and 
moiled day and night for that heartless little 
Bluggins, and this is how he rewards me ! How 
any child of mine can be so deliberately wicked 
I can not think. But I’ve had my lesson, 
James. No more indulgence for me, thank 
you. What’s he doTid, did you say? He's gone 
and let off a horrid fire extinguisher all over my 
beautiful new carpet. That's what he’s done, 
nothing else. That’s how he thinks an obedient, 
dutiful son should behave to a too indulgent 
parent. He lets off fire extinguishers and 


Uncle James 


263 


spoils her dress. Take him upstairs and thrash 
him, James; beat him; whip him; that’s all he 
cares about. Thrash him within an inch of his 
life,” and she made a dramatic gesture. 

Uncle James cleared his throat. His 
thoughts were still on the umbrella, which stood, 
a battered wreck, leaning against the banisters. 
“He seems rather damp, Clementina,” he said, 
doubtfully looking at the quite extensive pool 
of fire-extinguishing fluid which now sur- 
rounded Tommy. 

“Of course he’s damp,” said Mrs. Clemen- 
tina impatiently, “but I suppose he can change 
his clothes. Go up and change them at once,” 
she said, rising and making way, and without 
a word Tommy obeyed. His mother pointed 
dramatically to the liquid trail which followed 
him. 

“Four and sixpence a yard, sale price"' she 
said indignantly, meaning the carpet. 

A few minutes later Uncle James followed 
Tommy, and administered the chastisement 
which all right-thinking people will agree had 
been richly deserved. Uncle James’ methods 
were early Victorian, but effective; he had the 
umbrella to avenge, and it was an extremely 
subdued and chastened Tommy that accom- 
panied him back to the studio and stood sub- 


264 


Uncle James 


missively in the corner until the four-wheel cab 
arrived. The conversation going on in the 
background did not tend to raise his spirits, 
for Mrs. Clementina was declaring her inten- 
tion of sending him away to a boarding-school, 
and Uncle James was warmly approving of the 
plan, and saying that he knew of several in 
which special attention was paid to mathe- 
matics, good manners, and our duty toward our 
parents. Even when the time for parting 
arrived, and Mrs. Golightly, carrying Tommy’s 
bag, solemnly announced that the cab was at 
the door, there was no sign of forgiveness. 

“Good-by, Thomas ; you’ve broken my heart, 
that’s what you’ve done,” said Mrs. Clemen- 
tina, and Tommy, for answer, only gave his 
mother a powerful and affectionate hug, so 
powerful, in fact, that she thought he was try- 
ing to beg off. 

“It’s no good, Thomas, I shan’t be weak,” 
she said, and Tommy gave her another hug 
even more energetic. 

“I’ll go, mummy,” he sobbed in a whisper (so 
that Uncle James shouldn’t hear), “but I am 
sorry, really I am.” 

She watched them depart from the studio 
window, and felt very sad when the cab passed 
out of sight. Poor lady! She was entirely 


Uncle James 


265 


mystified and very much troubled about other 
things besides the carpet. And yet, if she could 
only have got inside, it was all so simple and 
easily forgivable. But then if we could only 
get inside people, as a wise Frenchman once 
said, it would be perfectly easy to forgive and 
be nice to everybody. 


CHAPTER XVII 

NO. 56 PULTENEY STREET 

^T^he cab selected by Mrs. Golightly was a 
particularly mournful and seedy cab, and 
as it rolled at a funeral pace down Begonia 
Road, Tommy from his place beside Uncle 
James began to experience an overwhelming 
feeling of forlornness and abandonment. It 
was not so much the sense of his own wicked- 
ness, though that was bad enough, but a vague, 
indefinable fear of something that was going to 
happen. The thought of Attwood and the re- 
sult of the doctor’s examination, which the 
stirring events of the last hour had driven 
away, came back now with fearful vividness, 
and he reflected that he would not be at home 
to receive the news from William, and would 
have to wait till next morning, and might miss 
it even then, because his mother had talked as 
though he was to be sent to the boarding-school 
straight away. 

Uncle James maintained a chilling silence 
during the whole of the journey — his eyes fixed 
alternately on the ruined umbrella, which occu- 
pied the front seat, and the table of charges for 
266 


267 


No. 56 Pulteney Street 

the hire of hackney carriages, which, neatly 
printed on a glazed tablet, was the only adorn- 
ment of which the cab could boast. Once or 
twice he sighed, as though troubled by the fig- 
ures on the tablet, and once or twice he glanced 
out of the window to see if the cabman was 
going by the shortest and most direct route. 
Beyond this he gave no sign of life, and the 
noise of the wheels and the shuffling trot of the 
seedy horse alone broke the silence. The cab 
in its long history had never probably carried 
two more depressed and uncommunicative 
fares. 

At last they arrived at Uncle James’ house. 
It was a large and rather imposing house in 
an eminently respectable street. The front 
door was painted a somber green, and adorned 
with a large and highly polished plate with 
“Mr. James B. Browne, Chartered Account- 
ant,” engraved in large letters on it. Tommy 
had often been there before, though never of 
his own accord, and would scarcely have felt a 
greater sinking of heart if the cab had drawn 
up before the doors of the city jail. He meekly 
took his bag (it was quite a small bag) from 
the cabman, watched Uncle James pay the fare, 
and followed him up the steps to the front 
door and waited till he had unlocked it with his 


268 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 


latch key. “All hope abandon ye who enter 
here” was what he felt, though not being a 
student of Italian literature, he did not exactly 
express it in those words, or indeed in any 
words at all. He just looked miserable and 
waited. 

They had scarcely got into the hall before a 
door opened and a lady dressed in black made 
her appearance. This was Tommy’s Aunt 
Maria, of whom he had scarcely thought till 
now, for Aunt Maria at all times reflected, 
without any personal additions, the views, opin- 
ions, and even to some extent the personal 
peculiarities of Uncle James, and therefore in 
a situation like the present was a negligible 
quantity. She looked surprised when she saw 
Tommy, and was apparently about to salute 
him in the conventional way when Uncle James 
raised a large and prohibitory hand. “No, 
Maria,” he said; “Thomas, I am sorry to say, 
has been a very naughty boy.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Aunt Maria, drawing back 
as though she thought it was catching. “Dear 
me! dear me!” she added, gazing reproachfully 
at Tommy, “how very, very sad.” 

“He has,” continued Uncle James, “as you 
see, not only wantonly ruined my umbrella, but 
misbehaved in other ways very seriously.” 


269 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 

“How shocking!” said Aunt Maria; “how 
truly deplorable.” 

“For the present,” said Uncle James, “he 
will stay with us. You can find a room for 
him, can you not, Maria?” 

“Certainly, dear,” said Aunt Maria, show- 
ing no surprise, though the fact that he had 
wantonly destroyed an umbrella scarcely 
seemed a reason for paying a prolonged visit 
to its owner. “He can have the little blue room. 
I’ll tell Ann to get it ready.” 

“There is no hurry,” said Uncle James 
grimly; “the rest of the evening I intend him 
to spend in solitude in the cellar. Boys who 
behave as he has done need a severe lesson, and 
Clementina implores me to take drastic meas- 
ures.” 

For a moment, only for a moment. Tommy 
looked up imploringly at Uncle James, only to 
see his doom irrevocably sealed in that large, 
impassive face. Then he set his teeth hard and 
made up his mind to go through with it, though 
his heart sank lower even than it had been be- 
fore. For, though he would have died rather 
than admit it. Tommy had a rooted dislike to 
being alone in the dark, even to going into dark 
rooms without a light. And if, dear sir or 
madam, you feel on that account tempted to 


270 No. 56 Pulteney Street 

think meanly of him, let me implore you not 
to, because there is really no occasion to do so. 
It is a mere matter of nerves. 

And Uncle James, who paused and glanced 
severely at his nephew as he delivered sentence, 
and perceived that he had produced an impres- 
sion, felt rather pleased with himself as having 
hit upon an effective remedy. Poor Uncle 
James, he had no idea whatever that, on the 
whole, it would have been a more merciful pro- 
ceeding if he had taken his umbrella and 
gouged one of Tommy’s eyes out with the fer- 
rule. 

Aunt Maria, on the other hand, had some 
faint, incoherent idea that this was rather a 
severe visitation for a small boy like Tommy. 
And so far I think her guilt is greater. She 
coughed apologetically, as one venturing on a 
bold and hazardous statement. “Don’t you 
think, dear,” she said nervously, “that the cellar 
is perhaps just a little damp?'" 

“No,” said Uncle James, still keeping his 
eyes on Tommy, and still (God forgive him!) 
feeling pleased with himself. “No, certainly 
not. Please get me a candle. Thomas, come 
with me.” He stalked solemnly down the hall 
and Tommy followed obediently behind. At a 
door under the stairs he paused and waited 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 271 

until Aunt Maria joined them with a lighted 
candle. Then he unlocked the door, and in- 
side appeared the top of a flight of stairs lead- 
ing down into the black depths below. A breath 
of dank, chilly air came up from the cellar and 
suggested to Tommy’s heated imagination first 
the thought of graves and dead people and then 
the thought of Attwood. It was too much for 
him. Without a moment’s hesitation he turned 
and bolted again. This time Uncle James 
caught him before he could get even to the foot 
of the stairs, but instead of coming quietly. 
Tommy struggled and fought as though for 
dear life, lashing out vigorously at Uncle 
James’ shins, and, as he still had his school 
boots on, doing considerable damage. Aunt 
Maria hovered about on the outskirts of the 
conflict, wringing her hands and uttering in- 
coherent lamentations. The candle was pro- 
jected half way up the stairs and made a nasty 
spot of grease on the carpet. 

“Call Benjamin quick,” gasped Uncle 
James, speaking with difficulty, for Tommy, 
whose legs were now out of action, was butting 
him vigorously in the stomach with his head. 
Aunt Maria obediently scuttled off, and almost 
immediately an elderly serving man appeared, 
hastily pulling on his coat. 


272 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 


He was so astonished at the spectacle of his 
usually dignified master struggling to protect 
himself from the attacks of an undutiful 
nephew that he stood staring with his mouth 
open, and making no attempt to come to the 
rescue. 

“Catch hold of him, you fool!” shouted Uncle 
James, shaken out of his usual state of calm 
decorum by Tommy’s vigorous butting. “Can’t 
you see what he’s doing?” Thus reminded of 
his duties, Benjamin seized hold of Tommy 
from behind, and without more ado lifted him 
bodily off the floor and held him in such a 
manner that the only means of retaliation was 
to thump his captor on the back with one arm. 
That he did and with vigor, but it had no effect 
whatever. His captor, whose grip was a very 
different thing to that of Uncle James, stood 
perfectly still, waiting respectfully for further 
orders. 

Uncle James was by this time terribly angry. 
He had been made to look extremely foolish 
(the most dignified person in the world can 
hardly help looking foolish when butted in the 
stomach) before Aunt Maria and Benjamin, 
and he was determined at all costs to bring 
Tommy to his senses. So when he saw that 
Benjamin had him secure^ in hold, he picked 


No. 56 Pulteney Street 


273 


up the candlestick again, lighted the candle, 
and led the way to the cellar, beckoning to Ben- 
jamin to follow. Benjamin did his best, but 
Tommy, so to speak, contested every inch of 
the ground, and whenever he had a chance of 
hooking onto anything, did so. At one point 
he got so tight a clutch of one of the banisters 
that Uncle James had to return and unhook 
him. 

At the top of the cellar stairs his struggles 
became so frantic that Benjamin hesitated and 
stopped short. 

Aunt Maria, who had accompanied the pro- 
cession at a safe distance, seized the opportu- 
nity for lodging an appeal for mercy. “James, 
dear,” she said, “I think the poor child is 
frightened. Don’t you think he might be put 
in the blue room instead?” 

“Certainly not, Maria,” said Uncle James, 
whose shins were smarting. “A perfect 
little tiger. Can’t you manage him, Benja- 
min?” 

“I think I’d best put him down, sir,” said 
Benjamin, and suiting the action to the word, 
he deposited Tommy at the top of the cellar 
steps. Tommy promptly sat down, spread out 
his legs so as to get as much leverage as possible 
and groped about for something to hold on to. 


274 No, 56 Pulteney Street 

“I’m sure he’s frightened,” said Aunt Maria, 
bursting into tears. “I really don’t think you 
ought to, James.” 

“Don’t be foolish, Maria,” said Uncle J ames 
sharply. “I know precisely what I’m doing. 
Benjamin, get him on.” 

Benjamin got him on, in a slow and undig- 
nified way, it is true, by pushing him from be- 
hind so that he slowly bumped down the entire 
flight of steps to the no small detriment of his 
clothes. Still, he attained the desired result 
and got him on and arrived at length at the 
last step. Uncle James followed with the 
candle. Aunt Maria remained at the top 
wiping her eyes with a cambric pocket hand- 
kerchief. 

The cellar was a very large one, and one end 
only was filled with coal. It was not quite dark 
when your eyes got used to it, for a certain 
amount of daylight filtered through the trap 
door leading up into the street, and now and 
then the footstep of a passer-by made a sudden 
clatter on the iron. When all three had 
eventually reached the bottom step Uncle 
James with the candle started off into the 
gloom. 

“Bring him along, Benjamin,” he said; “I’m 
going to put him in the wine cellar.” 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 275 

There was a repetition of the struggle which 
had so upset Aunt Maria, and once again 
Tommy found himself enveloped in Benjamin’s 
muscular arms and vainly beating a tattoo on 
his back. Uncle James led the way into the 
darkest and most remote corner of the cellar, 
where the flickering light of the candle revealed 
the presence of a very solid-looking door. He 
selected a key from a large bunch and unlocked 
it. Inside was darkness of the inkiest black- 
ness, the sort of darkness that makes you start 
back as though it were something solid. The 
wine cellar was quite empty, for Uncle James 
and Aunt Maria and all their household were 
total abstainers, and the candle, when held in- 
side, revealed nothing but an arrangement of 
stone shelves, which looked like gigantic pigeon 
holes. 

“Put him in there, Benjamin,” said Uncle 
James in his deepest voice. “Perhaps that will 
bring him to his senses.” 

Benjamin was about to obey when Tommy 
surprised them both by suddenly uttering a 
loud scream of terror, as though some one had 
run a knife into him. “Oh, don’t, don’t,” he 
screamed, getting his arms tight round Ben- 
jamin’s neck and clinging to him for dear life. 
“Don’t let him, please don’t let him.” 


276 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 


That ought to have opened Uncle James’ 
eyes as to what he was doing, for he had seen 
enough of Tommy that very afternoon to know 
that he was not a coward, and could take his 
punishment like a man. But I’m afraid it must 
be admitted (down here in this cellar is the 
best place to do it) that Uncle James was in 
some matters no better than a fool, and just at 
this moment he was an angry fool to boot. My 
only excuse for him is that he had never had 
any children of his own, and that his shins had 
been really badly barked. So far from relent- 
ing was he that he felt rather pleased at having 
brought Tommy to his senses (as he thought) , 
and told Benjamin to put him inside at once. 

Benjamin hesitated. Long habits of obe- 
dience and a profound respect for his em- 
ployer as an upright man and a prosperous 
chartered accountant struggled for the mastery 
with some elemental emotion in the region of 
his waistcoat pocket, and while he hesitated and 
let Tommy hang on, and noted that he was 
trembling all over, a protesting voice was heard 
from the direction of the stairs. “James, I 
implore you not to. I’m quite sure he’s fright- 
ened,” it said rather quaveringly. It was Aunt 
Maria. She had actually ventured down into 
the cellar. 


277 


No. 56 Pulteney Street 

The interruption had the most unfortunate 
effect upon Uncle James, adding the last touch 
to his state of exasperation. He turned round 
quickly in the direction of the voice. ‘‘Go back, 
Maria,” he bawled in a most ungentlemanly 
way. “How dare you interfere. Go away at 
once.” And Aunt Maria, weeping salt tears 
into the cambric pocket handkerchief, went 
away. I don’t blame her so much ; she had done 
her best, poor thing. 

No, Benjamin is the man I want to kick, and 
all right thinking people will want to do so, 
too. When Aunt Maria had gone away. Uncle 
James turned to him and ordered him to hand 
Tommy over. let him, oh, don't let 

him," screamed Tommy, but Benjamin did. 
He pulled away the arms that were clinging 
to him so tightly and handed him over, for 
Uncle James’ outburst of temper had been too 
much for the chicken-hearted Benjamin. We 
have seen in the course of this story, among 
other undesirable characters, a cad (the boy 
who listened at the keyhole) , a humbug (I need 
not mention his name), at least one fool, and 
one simpleton. Now, in Benjamin you see be- 
fore you a full-blown coward. 

Uncle James had deposited the candle on 
the floor, so had both hands free to deal with 


278 No, 56 Pulteney Street 

Tommy. He seized hold of him quite dex- 
terously and thrust him through the door into 
the blackness. He did it so smartly that 
Tommy had only just time to get his foot in 
and prevent the door closing altogether. 

“Please, Uncle, I’ll never do it again, and 
I’ll say I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything,” he 
gasped imploringly through the narrow open- 
ing. 

“You’d better think of what you’ve done 
already,” answered Uncle James in his re- 
morseless bass. “Think of the Fifth Com- 
mandment, and where wicked boys go who 
break it.” And with that he pushed Tommy’s 
foot away and banged the door. 

Shrieks for mercy and vigorous kicks at the 
woodwork followed at once, but deadened by 
the thickness of the door. Uncle James took 
no notice, but picked up the candlestick and 
stalked out, followed by his miserable servant. 
He was in a towering passion, and let the fact 
be known directly he arrived in the upper re- 
gions. He dared Aunt Maria (an easy task) 
to go near the cellar or allow any one else to 
go near it. He declared his intention of com- 
mencing investigations with a view to discover- 
ing who was master in that house, and then, 
with the keys of both cellars in his pocket and 


279 


No, 56 Pulteney Street 

his top hat slightly tilted on one side, he stalked 
out into the street, banging the front door be- 
hind him, and leaving Tommy in the darkness, 
and scared out of his wits, to meditate on the 
Fifth Commandment. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

WHAT TOMMY SAW IN THE CELLAR 

T he reason why Tommy gave that sudden 
and blood-curdling scream was because, 
when Uncle James held the light up at the door 
of the wine cellar, he saw Attwood inside quite 
distinctly. He was sitting hunched up in one 
of the big stone pigeon holes looking just as 
he had the night before, but quite dead. And 
he was going to be locked up with that in the 
dark. You see now why I said that it would 
have been kinder in Uncle James if he had 
poked Tommy’s eyes out with his umbrella. 

But Uncle James of course had no idea what 
he was doing. A wine cellar was just a wine 
cellar to him, and darkness nothing more sen- 
sational than the absence of light. He went 
off in a very unpleasant temper to his club and 
played two games of billiards. I am glad to 
be able to say that he played them very badly 
and had in both cases to pay for the table. 

But Tommy, as you will easily understand, 
was in a dreadful plight, and those last words 
about the Fifth Commandment put the finish- 
ing touch to his terror and panic. For Uncle 
280 


What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 281 

J ames, as for all Protestants, the Fifth Com- 
mandment meant the injunction to honor our 
fathers and mothers that our days may be long 
in the land, and he did not know that for a good 
Catholic like our poor Tommy it was the awful 
ordinance, “Thou shalt not kill.” He had been 
puzzled the first time Uncle James referred to 
it, and had concluded that his objectionable 
relative did not know his catechism very well, 
but now the meaning of it suddenly flashed 
upon him. Somehow or other Uncle James 
had found out about Attwood, and Attwood 
was dead, and that was why he was being sent 
away from home, and that was why he had 
thought about him directly the cellar door was 
opened, and why he had seen him hunched up 
there in the darkness behind him. He battered 
and kicked more frantically than ever at the 
door, calling Uncle James all the bad names 
he could think of in a paroxysm of anger and 
fury. But the anger died away, or rather was 
overcome by a growing, overwhelming sense of 
terror, a cold fear that came creeping over him, 
as numbing and paralyzing as though he were 
being let down slowly by inches into icy cold 
water. Attwood, the dead Attwood, was in 
there with him — he was close behind him — his 
cold mouth was close to the nape of his neck 


282 What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 

and blowing down it. And then he gave a 
shriek such as animals give when they are 
caught in a trap — a shriek of sheer, blind 
agony. And with that we must leave Tommy 
for the present, hoping that some one up above 
may hear him and have the sense to force the 
door and go down and do something. 

For the adventures of William on this event- 
ful afternoon, though less sensational than 
those of Tommy, are almost as important for 
our story, and we must go back to him for a 
little while. After they parted at the door 
of the church, William did not go straight 
home, but went round to Attwood’s house and 
hung about outside very much as Tommy had 
done earlier in the day. As before, there was 
absolutely no sign of what was going on within, 
and no one went in or came out the whole time. 
He got tired of it at last and went home to tea, 
his whole soul possessed by the longing for 
half-past six to come. 

Mrs. May was out, and his eldest sister ( Miss 
Aggie’s great friend), who was in temporary 
command, showed her sympathy by giving him 
two extra lumps of sugar in his tea. Matthew, 
who superintended the loaf, gave him the crust 
twice, though ordinarily the rule was that you 
took it in turns. Susannah kept on passing him 


What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 283 

things, and J ames Arthur gave him two toffee 
drops wrapped up in a piece of paper, pushing 
them silently into his hand. But no one men- 
tioned the subject of his trouble, though need- 
less to say it was uppermost in every one’s 
mind, and they would have dearly liked a cir- 
cumstantial account. The eldest Miss May 
had that very afternoon had a little tiff on the 
matter with her friend next door, for Miss 
Aggie had (with perhaps a little want of tact) , 
while expressing sympathy with the May fam- 
ily, added that she was most fervently thankful 
that Aleck had had nothing to do with it, at 
which Miss May (who had a temper like most 
of her brothers and sisters) fired up hotly in 
defense of William, and said that at any rate 
he had given himself up to justice, and even 
suggested that it is better not to be too sure 
about things of which you are not absolutely 
certain. Miss May to some extent shared in 
Susannah’s antipathy for Alexander. But in 
spite of their curiosity they asked no questions, 
seeing clearly that William was in a state in 
which very little would upset him. And when 
he got up and said he must be going they let 
him go. Only their eldest sister followed him 
outside into the hall, and he told her what he 
was going for. 


284 What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 

He arrived at the college soon after six and 
wandered about disconsolately for a time 
among the bare, empty corridors and class 
rooms. Waiting for important news is bad 
enough at all times, but to wait for it in an 
empty house, still more in an empty college, is 
enough to upset any one. William at ordinary 
times was by no means a nervous subject, but 
after about ten minutes of this sort of waiting 
he had worked himself into a regular fever, and 
kept on imagining he heard footsteps and that 
the messenger with the fatal tidings was com- 
ing. He did really hear some one at last, but 
it was Father Genicot going to his office. He 
told William that he had sent Henry the porter 
out to get the news, and that he would prob- 
ably be back in a few minutes now, and he 
took him into his office and did his best to cheer 
him up. He was still at this kindly task when 
through the window they both saw Henry pass 
in the street outside. William’s heart first stood 
still and then began to beat nineteen to the 
dozen. 

“You just wait here a minute, Willy,” said 
Father Genicot, and went out. William sat 
still in a cold perspiration, and looked dumbly 
up at the big crucifix which hung over the fire- 
place ; it looked just then different to any cruci- 


What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 285 

fix he had ever seen. There seemed to be noth- 
ing in the room but himself and the crucifix, 
and he made in those few moments the very 
best prayer he had ever made in his life, though 
he did not even know that he had been praying 
at all. 

The door opened, and he sprang to his feet. 
One glance at Father Genicot’s face was 
enough. ‘'Thank God, it’s all right, Willy,” 
he said, but it was hardly necessary. William 
took a step or two unsteadily toward him. ‘Tt 
was Him,” he said, pointing to the crucifix and 
hardly knowing what he said. You read in 
the lives of the saints of crucifixes that talk, 
but sometimes they talk to people who are not 
saints at all, and without any question of 
miracle. 

Father Genicot, being such a wise man, knew 
that quite well. “Of course it was,” he said. 
“Let’s kneel down and thank Him, Willy,” 
and they knelt down together on the hearth 
rug. They did not say anything out loud, but 
they both looked up at the crucifix without 
moving. Then Father Genicot made the sign 
of the cross and looked at William. “Fin- 
ished?” said Father Genicot, and William 
shook his head. “I shan’t never be finished,” 
he said, “ ’cos it was Him.” 


286 What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 

Father Genicot rose to his feet and took a 
small pinch of snuff, and blew his nose violently 
with an immense orange-colored pocket hand- 
kerchief. 

“Please, Father, I must go and tell Tommy,” 
said William, still speaking in the same solemn, 
subdued tone, “ ’cos I promised.” Father 
Genicot nodded, and William went out without 
another word. 

When he had gone Father Genicot took up 
the letter he had just received and re-read it. 
It was written obviously in a great hurry, and 
was from Attwood’s father. It said that the 
result of the examination was highly satisfac- 
tory, that the symptoms were not so serious as 
had been at first supposed, that there was no 
permanent injury, and no cause for anxiety 
whatever. “Well! well! well!” said Father 
Genicot to himself. “It’s a queer world, 
surely.” Then he settled himself down to say 
his office, and while he was saying it one text 
struck him so forcibly that he made his medi- 
tation on it next morning. It was a text on 
which he had often meditated before, and often 
did again. He used to call it the schoolmaster’s 
text. I must leave you to guess what it was 
and why he thought of it just then. 

As for William, directly he got outside he 


What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 287 

began to run as hard as he could tear, and kept 
it up nearly all the way to Begonia Road, which 
was a goodish distance. Consequently, when 
he arrived at Laburnam Villa he was consid- 
erably out of breath, an unfortunate fact in 
view of the delicate negotiations upon which, 
though he did not know it, he was about to em- 
bark. 

Mrs. Golightly came to the door in response 
to his summons, and as she had on her best 
Sunday dress, which looked at first sight to the 
uninitiated as though it were made of plum- 
colored silk, he thought it might be Tommy’s 
mother, and politely raised his cap. “Please, 
can I see Tommy Browne?” he said directly the 
door was opened. 

Mrs. Golightly did not answer for a moment. 
Though still smarting from the recent conflict, 
, and inclined to include all boys in one universal 
condemnation, William’s polite salute exercised 
a distinctly softening influence. Instead of 
answering with a curt negative and banging 
the door to, as she would probably otherwise 
have done, she sighed reflectively. “Master 
Thomas,” she said, “is not at home, nor won’t 
be.” 

William was so surprised that for a moment 
he could think of nothing to say. “He told me 


288 What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 

he was goin’ straight home,” he gasped at 
length. 

“That’s as it may be,” said Mrs. Golightly 
enigmatically. 

“Don’t you know where he’s gone to?” asked 
William, racking his brains to think what could 
have happened. 

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” said Mrs. Go- 
lightly. “He’s not gone; he’s been took.” 

“Oh!” said William, more mystified than 
ever. From the mournful way she spoke she 
might have been announcing Tommy’s prem- 
ature decease. 

“His uncle took him,” continued Mrs. Go- 
lightly with growing severity, “and a good rid- 
dance, too, that’s what I say.” 

William began to suspect now what had 
happened, and saw that he must proceed cau- 
tiously and at all costs secure Tommy’s pres- 
ent address. “Please, ma’am,” he said, “I’ve 
got a message for him ; won’t you tell me where 
he is?” 

It was the diplomatic “ma’am” that did 
it. Mrs. Golightly hesitated for a moment 
before answering, and looked at William’s 
anxious face. “56 Pulteney Street,” she said 
suddenly. “So now you know.” She said it 
with such a tone of finality that William felt 


What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 289 

that the conversation was ended. He thanked 
her and walked slowly down the path into 
Begonia Road, repeating over and over again, 
“56 Pulteney Street,” for fear he should for- 
get it. When he got clear of Laburnam Villa 
he wrote it down on a piece of paper. 

He had no idea where Pulteney Street was, 
and went up and asked the first policeman he 
met, and learned that Pulteney Street was at 
the other side of the town, near Pounderly 
Park. It was a decidedly awkward situation. 
In less than an hour night studies would be- 
gin, and it would never do to cut them without 
leave after the kindness with which he had been 
treated at home; on the other hand it seemed 
awful to leave Tommy in suspense, still think- 
ing that there might be some danger of Att- 
wood’s dying. To get to Pulteney Street he 
would have practically to pass his own home, 
and he made up his mind to go in and consult 
his eldest sister as to the course to be pursued 
in these perplexing circumstances. If she 
would take on herself the responsibility of his 
staying away from night studies there would 
be no danger. 

However, when at last he arrived home and 
laid the matter before her, he found that, as 
often happens with people who are not accus- 


290 What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 

tomed to high command, she was inclined to 
be nervous, and thought that he ought not to 
stay away on any account. She suggested that 
some one should be sent with a letter, and made 
William sit down and write one on the spot. 
So far all was easy enough. The letter did not 
give him much trouble, for by underlining it a 
good deal he made it perfectly clear that Att- 
wood was out of danger, and that there was no 
further reason to be anxious. But when it 
came to deciding who was to take it, there 
seemed to be no one to send. Matthew was 
out, and so was the second eldest Miss May. 
The servants could not be spared, and Miss 
May of course could not relinquish her com- 
mand. There was absolutely no one left but 
Susannah, and Miss May did not think that it 
would be quite the thing to send her, William 
suggested that she knew Tommy, and that she 
need only just leave the letter and come home 
at once, and that she often went to school by 
herself and could be quite trusted, but still Miss 
May did not think that it would be quite the 
thing. However, while the discussion was still 
in progress Susannah herself opportunely en- 
tered the room, and when she heard of the 
proposed commission, was so eager to under- 
take it and backed up William with so many 


What Tommy Saw in the Cellar 291 

ingenious arguments that the head of the house 
at last reluctantly gave way, and Susannah 
hastened upstairs to put on her things. Armed 
with twopence for her tram and many injunc- 
tions as to being careful of the crossings, she 
was at last allowed to depart, and William, 
with an easy mind, started off to the college for 
night studies. As nothing particular happened 
at these night studies, while a good many things 
happened to Susannah, we will for once aban- 
don the society of the Black Brothers and fol- 
low the fortunes of one of their sisters. 


CHAPTER XIX 


SUSANNAH BORROWS TWOPENCE 

O US ANN AH was fully conscious of the impor- 
^ tance of her mission, and her heart was 
beating a good deal more quickly than usual, 
though from the dignified way in which she 
paid the tram conductor no one would have 
guessed it. Miss May had told her that she 
was on no account to go in, but she had secretly 
promised William to give the letter into 
Tommy’s own hands. 

During the journey she was turning over in 
her mind possible plans of action, and rehears- 
ing the scene that would follow when, in an- 
swer to her ring, the front door of 56 Pulteney 
Street would fly open. A housemaid would, of 
course, appear, and she would ask to see 
Master Browne. “Tommy Browne” would be 
too familiar, and “Mr. Browne” might call 
forth Tommy’s uncle. The housemaid would 
then say: “Will you step inside, miss?” and 
she would reply (following the best models), 
“Thank you, no. I have an important en- 
gagement.” So far the etiquette was plain 
enough, but what should she do when Tommy 

292 


Susannah Borrows Two'pence 293 

himself appeared, especially if he pressed her 
to come in, as she felt sure he would, having no 
sisters? Susannah had not forgotten the epi- 
sode in the garden, and though she had not 
probably thought as much about it as Tommy, 
she did not want to appear stand-offish nor yet 
to disguise too much the fact that she liked 
Tommy very much, and thought him the nicest 
and bravest boy of her acquaintance after 
William. On the other hand, it was perfectly 
certain that she mustn’t go in. Perhaps a short 
conversation on the doorstep would meet all 
requirements, and perhaps the best plan would 
be to explain to Tommy exactly how matters 
stood. She had not quite made up her mind 
when the tram stopped at the gates of Poun- 
derly Park, and five minutes after that, follow- 
ing the directions of the tram conductor, she 
found herself in Pulteney Street. 

The magnificence of the houses rather took 
her aback. They were all much bigger than in 
Roscommon Street, and a great many of them 
were decorated with imposing brass plates. As 
she drew near No. 56 she began to feel more 
and more nervous, and at the foot of the flight 
of steps leading to that mansion she paused 
and repeated two or three times, ‘Ts Master 
Browne at home?” ‘‘Thank you, no. I have 


294 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

an important engagement,” and drew Will- 
iam's letter out of her pocket. Then she boldly 
advanced and (with difficulty, for it was rather 
high up) rang the bell and waited. 

She had to wait rather a long time, and was 
indeed beginning to fear that she had not been 
heard, and to wonder whether the proper thing 
was to ring again, when suddenly the door 
opened. It was a housemaid, not a footman, 
as the magnificence of the houses had led her 
to fear, and she got out the first part of her 
formula quite successfully. The housemaid did 
not take the cue at once; she stood, without 
speaking, looking curiously at Susannah, and 
Susannah repeated her question. Still the 
housemaid (who seemed a rather stupid per- 
son) failed to make the obvious rejoinder, and 
Susannah began to feel uneasy and to wonder 
if she hadn’t come to the wrong house. “Isn’t 
he here, please?” she said, and the housemaid 
said, “Yes, miss.” 

“I want to give him this letter, please,” said 
Susannah, with a vague sort of feeling that 
something was wrong. “Will you ask him to 
come here for a minute?” Again the housemaid 
looked at her in a curious way without speaking, 
and then, to her intense astonishment, she drew 
out a pocket handkerchief and wiped her eyes. 


Susannah Borrows Twopence 295 

“Will you please to step inside, miss,” she said, 
but Susannah was so upset that she forgot her 
carefully prepared reply. “Is anything the 
matter with him?” she asked anxiously. “I 
want to give him this letter.” 

The housemaid shook her head mournfully. 
“It’s very important, please. Do ask him to 
come down,” said Susannah. The words 
seemed to increase the housemaid’s distress, and 
she sobbed audibly. Susannah, more mystified 
than ever, and feeling that something dreadful 
must have happened to Tommy, stood and 
gazed at her in silence. The housemaid con- 
tinued to weep. 

“They’ve g-gone and l-locked him up in the 
cellar,” she sobbed at last, “and he’s been 
screaming something dreadful (loud sob) and 
they won’t let us go down” (several loud sobs) . 
Susannah’s first feeling on hearing this was not 
sympathy, but scorn. She felt that William 
would not have screamed if they had locked 
him up in a cellar. Then she remembered how 
brave Tommy was, and felt sorry for him. No 
doubt there was something particularly hor- 
rible in the cellar. She held out the letter and 
said again, “It’s very important. The house- 
maid took it and gazed at it tearfully, but made 
no movement in any direction. She was still 


206 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

gazing at it when a third party appeared on 
the scene, a stoutish lady with a very flushed 
face. This was Mrs. Gollop, the housekeeper, 
and she was fresh from an interview with Aunt 
Maria, in the course of which she had ex- 
pressed her opinion on the situation pretty 
clearly. 

She looked inquiringly at Susannah and at 
the housemaid. “This young lady wants to see 
Master Tommy,” said the latter by way of 
explanation. 

“Well, suppose she does,” said Mrs. Gollop 
severely. “That’s no reason for carrying on in 
that way that I can see. Go back to the kitchen 
at once, Sarah. I’m ashamed of you, really I 
am.” Sarah at once retired. 

“You must learn to control your feelings, 
Sarah,” added Mrs. Gollop as a parting shot 
at the retreating figure, “and not to give way 
to every emotion. Now, my dear, you just 
listen to me,” she continued, turning to 
Susannah. 

“Please, I want to give this letter to Tommy 
Browne, and it’s very — ” Susannah was begin- 
ning, when Mrs. Gollop cut her short. 

“Never you mind the letter,” she said, taking 
it, all the same, and putting it into her pocket. 
Master Tommy’s locked up in a cupboard in 


Susannah Borrows Twopence 297 

the cellar, and the master’s gone out with the 
keys, so there’s no more to be said about that. 
What you’ve got to do, my dear, is to go 
straight off to his mar and tell her if she don’t 
want him frightened into an idiot she’d better 
come here at once. Tell her Mrs. Gollop said 
so.” 

This unexpected and sensational announce- 
ment took Susannah so much by surprise that 
she simply stared at Mrs. Gollop with wide 
open eyes and made no reply. 

“Now, it’s no good staring at me like that,” 
said Mrs. Gollop. “I mean what I say, and I 
know what I’m talking about. It’s not for 
nothing I’ve brought up a family. You just do 
what I say, like a good little gel.” 

Susannah was too taken aback to resent even 
this unbecoming form of address. “But I don’t 
know where he lives,” she gasped. 

“Laburnum Villa’s the house, and Begonia 
Road’s the road,” said Mrs. Gollop. “Take 
the tram at Pounderly Park and change at 
Prestatyn Street. His mar’s as nice a lady as 
ever you saw, so don’t you be afraid. Now off 
you go, and the quicker the better.” So power- 
ful was the masterful decision of Mrs. Gollop 
that Susannah actually turned and proceeded 
to descend the steps. 


298 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

"'Whafs the name of the house?” Mrs. Gol- 
lop called after her, and Susannah, turning, 
found that she had forgotten. 

“Oh, silly, silly, silly!” cried Mrs. Gollop, 
“come here, do.” Susannah obediently re- 
turned, but instead of repeating her instruc- 
tions Mrs. Gollop seized her by the shoulder 
and marched her through the hall. At the door 
under the stairs, the scene of Tommy’s des- 
perate fight for freedom, she paused. “Put 
your ear to that keyhole,” she said, and Susan- 
nah put her ear to the keyhole and then looked 
up at Mrs. Gollop and began to cry. 

“No, no,” said Mrs. Gollop, down whose 
face, in spite of her condemnation of Sarah, 
two tears were trickling, “no, no, my dear, 
that’ll never do. You must be off and get his 
mar. She's the only one that can do anything.” 

Susannah dried her eyes with a clean pocket 
handkerchief, and suddenly remembered that 
she ought not to have come inside. She made 
for the door at once, Mrs. Gollop following. 
On the way Mrs. Gollop took a card from the 
tray in the hall and scribbled Mrs. Clemen- 
tina’s address upon it and gave it to Susannah, 
who pocketed it in a most business-like manner. 
“It’s a horrid shame,” she said tearfully, and 
Mrs. Gollop nodded approval. Then they 


Susannah Borrows Twopence 299 

parted, Mrs. Gollop watching her from the 
doorstep until she turned the corner. 

From what has just passed it will be easy to 
see that ever since Uncle James’ departure civil 
war had been raging in No. 56. Aunt Maria 
had not been the only spectator of Tommy’s 
sufferings, and Benjamin had a warm recep- 
tion when he returned to the upper regions, so 
warm, indeed, that the cook, with whom he 
had hitherto been on the most friendly terms, 
had gone so far as to smack his face. I do not 
pretend to regret it, though perhaps the exploit 
is rather to be admired than imitated. Mrs. 
Gollop ’s contribution had been, as I have 
stated, to give Aunt Maria a piece of her mind ; 
she was a privileged person in Uncle James’ 
household. As for Susannah, it was only when 
she found herself in the tram again and speed- 
ing toward Roscommon Street that the full 
gravity of the situation dawned upon her. She 
had made herself more or less responsible for 
effecting Tommy’s release through the medium 
of his mother; that is to say, she, who had only 
been allowed, under the extremest pressure, to 
go out to leave a letter, with strict injunctions 
to return at once, had bound herself to go to 
the other end of the town, call on a total 
stranger and inform her that Tommy was being 


800 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

frightened out of his wits. As to the fact she 
had no doubt. The sounds from the cellar had 
been so gruesome that every time she thought 
of them she wanted to cry again, and she kept 
on saying to herself, “Poor Tommy; oh, poor, 
poor Tommy!” But owing to her generosity 
of the day before, the only money she possessed 
was the penny that remained out of the two- 
pence given her for this journey, and that was 
speedily called for by the conductor. There 
was nothing for it but to go home and lay the 
facts of the case before the sister in command. 
Susannah sighed deeply as she realized the 
struggle that lay before her, and a stout lady 
sitting opposite her wondered what was troub- 
ling the little girl on the other side. If only 
her mother would come home, or Willie, or 
even Matt, but it was ordained that Susannah 
should bear this burden all alone. 

And after she had alighted from the tram 
another aspect of the question arose and made 
the situation yet more complicated. She knew 
that Tommy was not a coward, but, on the con- 
trary, a singularly brave, chivalrous and heroic 
person. She knew, too, that something very 
horrible was happening to him in the cellar, 
rats, perhaps, and that if he was screaming out 
it was because he could not help it. But if she 


Susarmah Borrows Twopence 301 

told her sister, or even her mother, still more 
Matt or William, about it, they would cer- 
tainly despise Tommy and think him a silly 
baby. Before she had got to the end of Ros- 
common Street she had made up her mind that 
no one should ever hear about that screaming 
from her. By the time she had reached No. 5 
she had formed a resolution so daring and des- 
perate that it only becomes credible when you 
remember that she was the daughter of Cap- 
tain May, and inherited along with her brothers 
and sisters a full share of his stoutness of heart. 
She would go to Mrs. Clementina all by her- 
self, without saying anything to anybody, and 
demand Tommy’s instant release. Tommy’s 
honor, I am thinking, could hardly have been 
intrusted to more loyal keeping. 

The first and greatest difiiculty to be over- 
come was the question of money. Susannah 
was now penniless, and except by following 
Mrs. Gollop’s instructions to the letter and 
taking a tram, she did not know how to get to 
Begonia Road. Twopence would probably be 
enough, but the raising of twopence is some- 
times a tremendous matter, and at the moment 
of ringing the front door bell she did not see 
her way to it at all. 

The moment the front door was opened Miss 


302 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

May came bustling out, greatly relieved to find 
that no accident had happened. She had spent 
the interval of Susannah’s absence in contem- 
plating a series of possible calamities ranging 
from damaged garments to broken limbs. 
“Now run upstairs at once, like a good girl,” 
she said, “and take off your things and come 
down and begin your lessons. You’ll be dread- 
fully behindhand as it is, and I’m sure I don’t 
know what Sister Elizabeth will say to- 
morrow.” Susannah proceeded obediently to 
mount the stairs without answering. “Did 
you leave the letter?” Miss May called 
after her, and Susannah intimated that she 
had. 

Now that she was indoors again the enter- 
prise she had undertaken seemed more des- 
perate and dangerous than ever, but she never 
wavered for a moment. Her whole mind was 
bent on the solution of the pecuniary problem, 
and half way up the stairs a possibility pre- 
sented itself in the person of James Arthur, 
who was descending with slow and deliberate 
steps, a large copy book tucked carefully under 
one arm. 

Susannah impulsively threw one arm round 
his neck and sat down on the stairs beside him. 
“Jimmy, dear, lend me twopence, there’s a 


Susannah Borrows Twopence 303 

darling,” she said, and Jimmy stopped and 
looked at her gravely. 

“What for?” he asked cautiously. 

“ ’Cos I want it dreadfully badly,” said Su- 
sannah. “Do, Jimmy, there’s a dear,” she said 
coaxingly. “Willy would,” she added, know- 
ing the weight which William’s authority pos- 
sessed with his small brother. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” answered Jimmy (pos- 
sibly with truth), “not if you didn’t tell him 
what for.” 

“Yes, he would,” said Susannah, “and I’ll 
ask him to take you out with him next Satur- 
day if you will, and I’ll pay it back. Jimmy 
shook his head obstinately. “What’s it for?” 
he said again — and at the same moment the 
dining-room door opened. 

“Jimmy, Jimmy, what on earth are you do- 
ing?” came in tones of exasperation from be- 
low, and Jimmy shouted in return, “I’m jus’ 
cornin’,” and recommenced his descent. 

“Oh, Jimmy, don’t be horrid,” said Susan- 
nah in an agitated whisper. “It is ’cos I’m 
goin,’ out without telling Conny for something 
for Willie.” 

“Willie’s at school,” said James Arthur in- 
credulously, continuing his descent. Susannah 
burst into tears. The sight of this heaven-sent 


304 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

opportunity disappearing was too much for 
her. 

It was the wisest thing she could have done, 
for James Arthur, though taught by experi- 
ence to be prudent in business transactions, 
especially with elder brothers and sisters, was 
none the less a gentleman and not inclined to 
carry things too far. He drew two rather 
sticky pennies from his pocket. 

“Here y’are,’' he said magnanimously. “You 
needn’t tell me nuffin’.” 

Susannah accepted them gratefully. “Don’t 
tell Conny,” she said, and Jimmy answered, 
“Raver not,” and winked cheerfully. “You’ll 
catch it when muvver comes home,” he said, 
and then he continued his journey more expe- 
ditiously, for the dining-room door was heard 
again to open. Susannah, leaning over the 
banisters, caught a glimpse of him being un- 
ceremoniously shaken and hustled inside. 

She waited for the door to close again, and 
then darted upstairs to the room she shared 
with her third eldest sister. Without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation she pulled a chair up to the 
wardrobe, mounted on it and drew out her 
Sunday hat. Then she hurried across to the 
chest of drawers and from her own particular 
drawer, the receptacle of all her treasures (in- 


Susannah Borrows Twopence 305 

eluding the now empty money-box) she 
brought forth, first a pair of neatly folded 
gloves, secondly an embroidered pocket hand- 
kerchief, and thirdly a rather large card with 
“Miss Susannah May” written on the upper 
part, and “At Home” occupying the lower. 
This was a relic of her last birthday party ; six 
copies had been written out for her by one of 
her sisters, who was noted for her beautiful 
writing, five had been distributed among her 
friends and the sixth retained for future use. 
The “at home” had puzzled Susannah a good 
deal, but as every one seemed to take it for 
granted that it was the proper thing, she had 
not liked to ask any questions, and after much 
reflection had come to the conclusion that 
probalby really fashionable people sometimes 
changed their names when they went abroad, 
and so found it necessary to make the distinc- 
tion. Every one knows that when you call on 
strangers you ought to have your card case with 
you, and it was not likely that a careful student 
of propriety like Susannah would omit so im- 
portant a detail. This was the nearest ap- 
proach to a visiting card she could raise under 
the circumstances, and she carefully folded it 
up in the embroidered pocket handkerchief. 
Her preparations being now complete, she stole 


306 Susannah Borrows Twopence 

as noiselessly as she could downstairs, out into 
the garden, and then into the back street. She 
met no one on the way, and once outside the 
garden door, she threw dignity to the winds and 
ran. It was not until she had reached Pres- 
tatyn Street and was seated in the tram indi- 
cated by Mrs. Gollop that she felt she was per- 
fectly safe. 


CHAPTER XX 


SUSANNAH MAKES A CALL 

iy/r Rs. Clementina Browne was sitting in 
^ her studio trying with the aid of a small 
sponge and a bottle of benzine to get out the 
spots with which the Patent Imperial Squelch- 
it-out had besprinkled her dress. She was still 
in very low spirits and rather out of temper, 
and when Mrs. Golightly knocked modestly at 
the door and entered she gave her anything but 
a smiling reception. Mrs. Golightly was still 
clad in plum-colored silk and her face bore the 
nearest approach to a smile of which it was 
capable. “A little gel, mum,” she said, “would 
like to see you. She gave me this,” she added, 
with what in any one else I should have de- 
scribed as a giggle. 

Mrs. Clementina shook her head without 
looking at the card. “One of these begging 
children, I suppose,” she answered. “Tell her 
IVe nothing to give,” and she recommenced 
her spot-extinguishing operations. 

“A nice little gel, mum,” said Mrs. Go- 
lightly, who had a soft spot in her mournful 
heart for little girls. “And she said she wanted 
307 


308 


Susannah Makes a Call 


to see you most particular, and she gave me 
this.” She held out the card, which Mrs. Clem- 
entina took and glanced at. Her face relaxed 
a little. “What an odd little thing,” she said. 
“Well, you may send her in, Mrs. Golightly, if 
you think she isn’t begging.” Mrs. Golightly 
retired and summoned Susannah, who was sit- 
ting on the very chair previously occupied 
Uncle James, feverishly repeating the phrase 
she had selected as the most appropriate for 
commencing the interview. She rose at once, 
in answer to Mrs. Golightly’s signal, and fol- 
lowed her into the studio. 

Mrs. Clementina ought to have said, “To 
what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” but 
instead of that she just sat still and stared, 
which was certainly not the proper thing to do. 
However, if you cannot get your cue you must 
do without it, and accordingly she looked 
straight at the formidable lady before her and 
said in a clear voice. “You will pardon, I trust, 
the intrusion of an entire stranger.” 

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Clementina, rather 
taken aback; “won’t you take a seat?” Su- 
sannah took a seat and looked anxiously at her 
hostess, who sat eyeing her critically. The 
magnificence and seeming haughtiness of 
Tommy’s mother quite drove out of her head 


Susannah Makes a Call 309 

all the other polite phrases she had thought 
upon the way. They were mostly culled from 
“Politeness Costs Nothing, a Handbook of 
Practical Etiquette,” of which one of the elder 
Misses May possessed a copy. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Clementina at last, “what 
did you want to see me for? If you’re begging 
I may as tell you at once that I never give any- 
thing to children on principle.” 

“I’m not/^ said Susannah, flushing indig- 
nantly and not altogether understanding the 
remark. “I wouldn’t do such a thing, I’m sure. 
She wished she had put on her Sunday dress 
as well as the hat, and wondered if she looked 
very shabby. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Clementina. 
“Perhaps you’ll tell me what you have come 
for, then, as I’m rather busy this evening.” 

Susannah was so angry at the suggestion 
that she was a beggar that she did not answer 
for a moment. “I came about — about — 
Tommy,” she said at last. It did not seem quite 
the right title to use, but “Master Browne” 
seemed still more out of the question. 

Mrs. Clementina frowned severely. “Do 
you mean my son Thomas?*' she said. 

Susannah blushed, feeling the rebuke keenly, 
and wondering how Mrs. Gollop could have 


310 Susannah Makes a Call 

been so misguided as to describe this horrid per- 
son as “as nice a lady as ever you saw.” “Yes, 
ma’am,” she said meekly. “Please, Mrs. Gol- 
lop asked me to come.” 

Susannah had hoped that the name of Gollop 
might exercise a softening effect upon her hos- 
tess, but in this she was disappointed. “Oh, 
did she?” answered that lady. “Then you can 
tell Mrs. Gollop from me that I wonder she 
dares to interfere.” Mrs. Clementina knew of 
Mrs. Gollop as the tyrant of Uncle James’ 
household, and resented what she thought was 
probably a criticism of her methods. 

Susannah began to be alarmed, for things 
seemed to be taking a bad turn. She lost her 
head a little and made a tactical mistake. 
“Please, she wants you to come and stop him 
being punished,” she said, looking up entreat- 
ingly at her hostess. 

Mrs. Clementina flushed angrily. “Does 
she?” she answered; “the very idea! And she 
sent you^ did she? Well, I wonder what next! 
Why, I sent him to be punished. I’m sure I 
hope he is being punished — a wicked, undutiful 
little wretch.” 

“He’s not'* almost shouted Susannah, rising 
from her chair and confronting her hostess. 
“He’s a good boy; I know he is, and they’re 


Susannah Makes a Call 


311 


frightening him into an idiot. Mrs. Gollop said 
they were, and it’s just horrid of you to call him 
names.” She was quite surprised at her own 
boldness. 

“Dear me!” said Mrs. Clementina, “so 
you're a friend, too, are you? I didn’t know 
Thomas had any lady friends.” 

“Yes, I am,” said Susannah stoutly. “We’ve 
been intro jooced quite properly; my brother 
intro jooced us, and he got my money box back 
for me, and he’s a very brave boy, and he 
wouldn’t scream out for ordinary things, ’cos 
he told me. 

“Oh, please do come,” she continued, as Mrs. 
Clementina made no answer, being, as a matter 
of fact, rather taken aback by this flood of reve- 
lation. “He’s locked up in a horrid, awful 
cellar, and Mrs. Gollop said you’d come.” She 
went close up to Mrs. Clementina and caught 
hold of her impulsively. 

“Don’t pull my dress about,” said Mrs. 
Clementina sharply. “And you mustn’t talk 
to me like that or I shall be very angry.” Su- 
sannah’s lips began to tremble at this rebuke 
and her hostess softened a little. “I dare say 
you’re a very kind-hearted little girl,” she con- 
tinued, “but when boys misbehave they have to 
be punished, and I must say I am surprised at 


312 Susannah Makes a Call 

your mother allowing you to come on such an 
errand.” 

“She didn’t,” said Susannah. “I came by 
myself.” 

“Then I think you’d better go back at once, 
and I expect you’ll get a good scolding,” said 
Mrs. Clementina. “If you were my little girl I 
should be very angry indeed.” 

“But you will go, please, won’t you?” 
said Susannah, disregarding the personali- 
ties and sticking to the point. “Oh, please 
do ; you don’t know how dreadfully it 
sounded.” 

“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Clementina, with 
energy. “It’s the most preposterous idea I 
ever heard of in my life. I’m sure Thomas de- 
serves all that he’s getting, and more into the 
bargain.” 

Susannah recoiled in horror, and forgot even 
her strong sense of propriety at the spectacle 
of such stoney-heartedness. “Oh, you horrid 
thing!” she exclaimed indignantly, “and M^s. 
Gollop said you were nice. I’m glad I’m not 
your little girl.” 

“Go away,” cried Mrs. Clementina, rising 
indignantly from her chair and ringing the bell 
violently. “Mrs. Golightly, show this young 
person out at once. I’ve a very good mind to 


Susannah Makes a Call 


313 


write to your mother and tell her how rude 
you’ve been, miss,” she added. 

Before this awful outburst Susannah’s indig- 
nation subsided. She followed Mrs. Golightly 
submissively to the door, and then, with a sud- 
den remembrance of the obligations of pro- 
priety, she turned and addressed her hostess. 
“I’m sorry I was rude,” she said, “and I wish 
you a good afternoon.” Mrs. Clementina made 
no reply, and Susannah, turning a deaf ear to 
Mrs. Golightly ’s well-meant but somewhat 
sepulchral jocularity, allowed herself to be con- 
ducted off the premises. She was too proud to 
break down while in the enemy’s citadel, but 
directly she got into Begonia Boad she began 
to cry, and cried and cried, leaning desolately 
against the railings of Mr. Appleby’s garden, 
and bedewing his geraniums plentifully with 
her tears. For it was simply heartbreaking to 
think that, in spite of all her efforts, all her 
daring and audacity had been in vain, and that 
Tommy must remain in the dreadful cellar 
until his wicked uncle chose to let him out. 
“Oh, poor Tommy,” she sobbed, “poor dear 
Tommy.” She cried so violently that a kind- 
hearted lady stopped and wanted to know the 
cause, and pressed her so hard that Susannah 
said at last that she had toothache, and the 


314 Susannah Makes a Call 

kind-hearted lady recommended menthol. This 
added another woe to Susannah’s heavy bur- 
den, for she suffered dreadfully from remorse 
of conscience at the thought of having told a 
story, and found it hard to keep up appear- 
ances during the tram ride home. 

Directly she rang the bell of No. 5 Roscom- 
mon Street the door flew open and the agitated 
and indignant flgure of Miss May appeared in 
the opening. She seized Susannah unceremo- 
niously and bundled her into the hall. Then she 
took her by both shoulders and shook her 
violently and demanded to know where she had 
been and how she dared, yes, dared, to go out 
without her leave, and what she thought her 
mother would say. To all of which Susannah 
returned a stony silence, and was, after some 
more questioning, sent off to bed with dreadful 
threats of what she might expect would happen 
later. Maintaining outwardly a more or less 
calm demeanor (but only just), she climbed 
miserably upstairs, leaving her indignant sister 
to return to the dining-room and prepare her 
indictment. 

As she passed the nursery, which was inhab- 
ited by J ames Arthur and the youngest of all, 
she heard her name called in a cheerful but 
cautious whisper (the door being ajar), and 


Susannah Makes a Call 


315 


on entering found James Arthur sitting up in 
bed in his night shirt chewing gum in the dark. 
“Mind the baby,” he whispered, and Susannah 
carefully shaded the candle with one hand and 
came over to him on tiptoe. James Arthur had 
been sent to bed in disgrace, under suspicion of 
being an accessory before the fact to Susan- 
nah’s crime, as he now proceeded to explain, 
with a cautious eye all the time upon the 
placidly slumbering baby. To wake the baby 
was an offense which always brought summary 
vengeance in its train. 

Susannah put the candle carefully on the 
floor, took off her hat, and sitting down on the 
bed, buried her face in the pillow and burst into 
tears. She wanted sympathy, and James 
Arthur was the only point available. 

She might have gone to worse sources. 
Though rather surprised at first and anxious 
about the baby, he soon understood what was 
expected of him, and patted her head with an 
affectionate, if sticky, hand. “Did she smack 
you?” he asked kindly. “I didn’t split, really 
I didn’t.” Susannah shook her head im- 
patiently. 

“You needn’t tell me nuffin’ if you don’t 
like,” murmured James Arthur magnani- 
mously, and reached out for his coat, the pocket 


316 Susannah Makes a Call 

of which contained a further supply of chew- 
ing-gum. 

“Oh, Jimmy, dear, I am so miserable,’’ 
sobbed Susannah. “I’d tell you all about it if 
I could.” 

“I wouldn’t split,” said James Arthur ear- 
nestly, ^'honestinjun/^ 

“I know you wouldn’t, Jimmy, darlin’,” 
sobbed Susannah, “but it’s a secret and I 
c-can’t.” She buried her face on the pillow and 
sobbed aloud. 

James Arthur felt that this was a grief too 
great for chewing-gum, and tucked the fresh 
supply under the pillow. “You needn’t pay 
back that twopence, y’know,” he said, adding 
at once, in answer to a sudden scruple, “unless 
you want to.” Susannah sat up and give him 
an affectionate hug. 

“You’re a dear darlin’,” she said; ^course 
I’ll pay it back. You must go to sleep now and 
I mustn’t stop.” She rose from the bed, 
smoothed her hair and put on her hat again; 
and then she shook the pillow straight and 
tucked James Arthur up carefully. “Oh, 
Jimmy, dear, how sticky your hands are,” she 
whispered, with a sudden return to the elder 
sister attitude. 

“It’s all ri’,” murmured James Arthur sleep- 


Susannah Makes a Call 


317 


ily. ‘‘It comes off on the bedclothes.” Susannah 
shook her head reprovingly. “You’ll be just 
like Willy when you grow up,” she said, and 
James Arthur transferred a lump of chewing- 
gum to the other cheek and grinned appreci- 
atively. To be like William was the object of 
his most cherished ambition. 

Susannah gave him a parting kiss and stole 
noiselessly out of the room. But when she got 
to her own bedroom she began to cry again ( I 
am afraid she will be thought rather a weepy 
young lady) , and when she said her prayers she 
begged God most fervently to take care of 
Tommy, and make them let him out and to 
forgive her for telling stories. Then she tried 
to go to sleep, and succeeded after a time, 
thinking to the end of Tommy and believing 
that her mission had been a hopeless and heart- 
breaking failure. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE CLIMAX OF THE TRAGEDY 

F> UT it had not, by any means. As so often 
^ happens, what seemed at the moment an 
ignominious failure was in reality a very brill- 
iant success. For in spite of the relentless atti- 
tude she had thought it necessary to adopt, her 
interview with Susannah left Mrs. Clementina 
very uneasy and anxious. The earnestness of 
her visitor, and, in particular, the remark about 
their frightening Tommy into an idiot, had im- 
pressed her very much, and the more she 
thought the matter over, the stronger the desire 
grew to go to Pulteney Street and see for her- 
self that Uncle James was not pushing mat- 
ters too far. The difficulty was to find a reason- 
able excuse, and with a view to discovering one, 
she went up to his bedroom to see if Mrs. Go- 
lightly had forgotten to pack up some indis- 
pensable article. She could find only a nail 
brush, which was hardly in itself sufficient, but 
she added two pairs of socks and a flannel shirt 
so as to have a decently big parcel. Armed 
with this, she sallied forth, without (as will be 
easily understood) telling her cook-house- 
318 


The Climax of the Tragedy 319 

keeper of her destination, and at the very first 
cab-stand she came to she took a taxi and told 
the man to drive as quickly as he could to 
Pulteney Street. And this despite the fact 
that she hated taxis, not alone because they 
went at such a vertiginous pace, but because the 
sight of the constantly increasing liabilities 
always depressed her. 

Once inside and whirling Uncle Jamesward 
she began to feel foolish and to wish she hadn’t. 
The parcel beside her seemed now a somewhat 
disproportionate excuse for the outlay of cap- 
ital involved, and there seemed, too, something 
rather incongruous in tearing at this breakneck 
speed across the city in order to supply a riot- 
ous and disobedient little boy with a nail brush, 
two pairs of socks and a flannel shirt. Even 
if she described the parcel as containing a “few 
things,” Uncle James would scarcely fail to 
suspect some ulterior motive and hold her 
guilty of extravagance and maternal weak- 
ness. So strongly did she feel that she was 
committing herself in a particularly censorious 
quarter that she determined to stop the cab at 
the end of the street and walk up to the house. 
This plan was, however, frustrated by the fact 
that at the moment when it should have been 
carried out the register suddenly ran to two 


320 The Climax of the Tragedy 


shillings, which so startled Mrs. Clementina 
that she forgot all about her plan for the mo- 
ment. When she came to herself again the 
brakes were already on and the cab slowing up 
before No. 56. 

She got out and paid her fare, and at that 
very moment, as luck would have it. Uncle 
James, returning from his club, arrived at the 
door of his residence. He looked very surprised 
at seeing Mrs. Clementina, and glanced with 
marked disapproval at the now disappearing 
taxi. “What does this mean, Clementina?” he 
said severely. “You are surely not 

“Oh, dear no, James, nothing of the sort^ I 
assure you,” said Mrs. Clementina energeti- 
cally. “Just a few things Thomas left behind. 
I — I thought he might want them, you 
know.” 

“Humph!” said Uncle James (he was still 
in a very bad temper). “I will take them in 
for you, Clementina. You are probably in a 
hurry to get back.” 

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Clementina, somewhat 
agitatedly. “That is, of course, yes. But I’ll 
just come in for a moment and see Maria. 
How is Maria?” 

“Maria, I am thankful to say,” answered 
Uncle James, “is in tolerable health.” The 


The Climax of the Tragedy 321 

tone of his voice made it quite clear that he 
was deeply offended, and Mrs. Clementina be- 
came still more agitated as she followed him up 
the steps and into that hall. The moment the 
front door was opened Mrs. Gollop appeared 
in the distance, but she vanished when she saw 
Uncle James. 

Still maintaining his haughty and unbend- 
ing demeanor, he ushered Mrs. Clementina into 
the drawing-room, where Aunt Maria was sit- 
ting in a very unhappy frame of mind. She 
started quickly when she saw who the visitor 
was, and tried to hide her embarrassment by 
the effusiveness of her welcome. 

“Clementina,” boomed Uncle James in his 
deepest voice, “has brought a few articles for 
Thomas. Perhaps you will see that he has 
them. They appear to be indispensable.” 

“Certainly, dear,” gasped Aunt Maria ner- 
vously, “I’ll give them to him at once — that 
is, presently, of course.” Her obvious em- 
barrassment, coupled with Uncle James’ biting 
satire, upset Mrs. Clementina still further, and 
she quite lost her head. “His nail-brush^ you 
know, Maria,” she said hastily, “he left it be- 
hind. He has such trouble with his teeth, I 
mean with his nails. Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’m 
talking dreadful nonsense,” she added, and 


322 The Climacc of the Tragedy 


sank with a despairing gesture into the nearest 
chair. 

“Clementina,” said Uncle James solemnly, 
“I respect your maternal solicitude, but you 
must allow me to say that you are exhibiting 
very great and deplorable weakness.” 

“I’m afraid I am/" answered Mrs. Clemen- 
tina humbly, and then abandoning all attempt 
at concealment, she added, “but is he all right, 
James? I know it’s very silly, but I felt so 
anxious.” 

Uncle James, if possible, grew even more 
portentously solemn. The idea that it was not 
all right, or could be otherwise than all right 
in any proceeding which he directed, had never 
once entered his respectable bald head. Let us 
make that quite clear once and for all. His 
ignorance was of the sort that moral theolo- 
gians picturesquely call crass and supine. He 
felt it as an affront that even the suggestion 
should have been made, and he answered his 
visitor’s agitated question in a tone of severe 
and somewhat oratorical reproof. 

“Clementina,” he said, standing before the 
fireplace with one hand under his coat tails, 
“it is not for me to judge of the methods you 
choose to adopt in the education of your son, 
of my poor brother’s only son, but I fear I can 


The Climcur of the Tragedy 323 

not congratulate you on their results. Thomas 
bears all the marks of being a thoroughly 
spoiled and vicious child.” 

‘‘Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Clementina in 
great distress. “Do you really think so?” 

“I am convinced of it,” said Uncle James. 
“I have noticed with pain, in the course of my 
recent visits to your house, a growing spirit 
of insolence and insubordination. The boy is 
by nature self-willed and obstinate. Your cul- 
pable weakness and total neglect in the correc- 
tion of his faults has naturally tended to con- 
firm him in them.” 

“But I said Mrs. Clementina. “Why, 
only this morning I asked Father Genicot to 
give him a good whipping. I did indeed.” 

Uncle James snorted contemptuously. “I 
have already made you fully aware of the opin- 
ion I entertain with regard to the collegiate 
establishment which you have selected for my 
nephew,” he said severely. 

“It was poor, dear Thomas’ wish, you know 
it was, James,” said Mrs. Clementina, wiping 
her eyes. “Poor darling, it was almost the last 
thing he ever said.” 

“My brother Thomas,” answered Uncle 
James with some warmth, “would not, I fancy, 
have wished his son to develop into a youthful 


324 The Climax of the Tragedy 


hooligan with the instincts of a savage and the 
manners of a bargee.” At these words both 
ladies looked at him with surprise, and Mrs. 
Clementina bridled indignantly. 

“Really, James — ” she was beginning, when 
he cut her short. 

“I use the words deliberately, Clementina,” 
he said with growing energy. “I need not pain 
you by recalling the shocking events of this 
afternoon, but let me tell you that your son’s 
behavior while in my house has been, if pos- 
sible, of an even more outrageous description. 
Maria, I think, will bear me out when I say 
that he exhibited a tigerish ferocity which I 
should have deemed impossible in one so young. 
He did not even scruple to resort, I am grieved 
to say it, to personal violence” (this was the 
most direct allusion to his damaged shins which 
modesty permitted). Aunt Maria, thus ap- 
pealed to, shook her head dolefully in confirma- 
tion, and Mrs. Clementina’s rebellious impulse 
subsided. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what’s come over 
him lately,” she said, wiping her eyes again. 
“He used to be such a dear, good little boy!” 

“No, no, Clementina, believe me, he has been 
throwing dust into your eyes,” said Uncle 
James. “No right-principled boy could have 


The Climaw of the Tragedy 325 

behaved as he has done. The evil is so deeply 
rooted that only by the most drastic measures, 
firmly and consistently applied, can we hope 
to eradicate it. I have already commenced that 
application, with, I think, hopeful results. I 
flatter myself that, at the cost, it’s true, of no 
little inconvenience, I have at least contrived to 
bring him to his senses.” 

“What have you done to him, James?” asked 
Mrs. Clementina nervously. 

“I have followed the course recommended in 
parallel cases by the eminent philanthropist, 
Robert Howard,” answered Uncle James, 
growing wordier and wordier, “a man for 
whom we have all, I suppose, the greatest ven- 
eration. In other words, I have placed him in 
solitary confinement, and intend that he shall 
remain there for the rest of the evening. And 
permit me to say that if you still desire to 
place the matter in my hands, I can not allow 
my arrangements to be interfered with.” 

“Is he in the dark?” asked Mrs. Clementina. 

“He is,” answered Uncle James. “It is an 
essential part of the system.” 

Mrs. Clementina was silent; all her former 
anxieties were aroused, and yet she was afraid 
to put in a plea for a mitigation of the sentence 
lest it should call down upon her another re- 


326 The CUinaoo of the Tragedy 

buke. From this dilemma she was rescued by 
Aunt Maria, who gallantly stepped into the 
breach. 

“Don’t you think, James, dear,” she said 
nervously, “that if he’s really sorry, you might 
let him out. I can't help thinking the cellar 
may be a little damp.” 

“Oh, do, James,” Mrs. Clementina chimed 
in. “I don’t want to interfere, indeed I don’t. 
I have the most implicit confidence in your 
judgment, as you know. I’m sure you’re doing 
the best possible for poor Thomas — quite sure. 
But do go down and let him out, just to satisfy 
his poor silly old mother, James.” In her 
eagerness she had risen and caught hold of his 
arm. 

“I know it’s weak,” she continued, seeing 
that Uncle James showed no signs of relenting, 
“terribly, terribly weak. But he’s all I’ve got, 
James; he’s my only little Thomas.” The 
handkerchief was again called into requisition. 

“Calm yourself, Clementina, calm yourself, 
I beg,” said Uncle James, who, as I have stated 
before, was really a kind-hearted man. “It is 
not in accordance with my original plan, but 
I have no objection, if it will be any satisfaction 
to you, to paying him a visit, or even to cur- 
tailing his punishment should he prove repent- 


The Climaw of the Tragedy 827 

ant. I have no other motive than the child’s 
reformation, I assure you.” 

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” cried Mrs. Clem- 
entina, “and I’m most grateful for all you’ve 
done, for all your kindness. But it would be 
such a relief to me if you’d go down, just to 
make quite sure that he’s not too frightened. 
He sometimes is rather frightened in the dark.” 

“Certainly, Clementina,” said Uncle James, 
ringing the bell. “I am anxious, believe me, 
to relieve you of all the pain I can.” He 
ordered a candle to be brought, and when it 
arrived, lighted it and prepared to depart. “I 
think it will be wise not to inform him of your 
visit,” he said as he opened the door, and Mrs. 
Clementina meekly acquiesced. 

He walked down the hall as perfect a figure 
of self-satisfied propriety and self-conscious 
wisdom as could well be imagined, totally and 
pathetically ignorant of the fact that Nemesis, 
the Nemesis that punishes ignorance — and a 
truly appalling goddess she is — was stalking 
close behind him spitting on her hands glee- 
fully (if we can suppose a goddess would do 
anything so vulgar), and preparing to deliver 
such a series of resounding cuffs as he would 
remember all the days of his life. 

The ladies, when he left them, began to con- 


328 The Climax of the Tragedy 


verse on indifferent topics — the weather, Aunt 
Maria’s sciatica, bargains in tegal hats to be 
had at a current sale, the ways of suffragettes 
(which Aunt Maria condemned and Mrs. 
Clementina mildly championed), and so on. 
The minutes drew on into a quarter of an hour, 
and Mrs. Clementina began to glance uneasily 
at the loud-ticking, early Victorian clock, but 
still no Uncle James appeared to relieve the 
tension. I expect he’s giving him a good talk- 
ing to,” said Aunt Maria at last, and Mrs. 
Clementina was understood to say that she 
thought it very probable. They recommenced 
on the suffragette question, and Aunt Maria 
was saying something about unladylike con- 
duct when she broke off with a little scream 
and started to her feet. Uncle James had re- 
turned and was standing in the doorway. 

But what a different Uncle James! There 
was no pomposity now, and the self-satisfied 
air had altogether vanished. His face was 
twitching nervously, and he kept on licking 
his lips as though he found it difficult to speak. 
At the sight of him Mrs. Clementina, whose 
back had been turned, gave a scream which cast 
Aunt Maria’s insignificant squeak entirely into 
the shade and ran straight at him. She caught 
hold of the lapels of his coat convulsively. 


The Climax of the Tragedy 329 

“What’s the matter?” she cried. “Something’s 
happened; I know it has. Where’s my little 
boy, where’s my Thomas?” 

“Calm yourself, Clementina,” said Uncle 
James, but his voice was husky and unnaturally 
strained. “Calm yourself, I beg.” 

“I won’t, I won'tr screamed Mrs. Clemen- 
tina. “I won’t be calm. Give me my little 
boy. Oh, what have you done to my little 
boy?” and she made a rush for the door. 

Uncle James placed his back against it reso- 
lutely. 

“No, Clementina, not now. Listen, pray 
listen,” he said, and caught hold of her hands. 
For a moment they looked full into each other’s 
eyes. Then Mrs. Clementina stepped back- 
ward a few paces and turned to Aunt Maria. 

“Don’t you know what’s happened?” she 
said to her quite calmly. “Why, they have 
frightened him into an idiot,” and she straight- 
way went off into violent hysterics. 

As for Tommy, he was at that moment lying 
in a dead faint in Mrs. Gollop’s arms in the 
little blue room, having his collar loosed and 
brandy poured down his throat. And Benja- 
min in a taxi-cab was racing off to Bodney 
Street to call in Dr. Bellamy, Uncle James’ 
medical adviser. 


CHAPTER XXII 


WILLIAM ACTS WITH GREAT PRUDENCE AND 
DISCRETION 

\\T ILLIAM went to bed that night without 
^ ^ seeing Susannah, but as he had been told 
that the letter had been duly left at Pulteney 
Street, he concluded that all was well, and went 
to sleep with an easy mind. His astonishment 
was all the greater when, as it seemed, in the 
middle of the night he was awakened by some 
one shaking him. He sat up in bed sleepily 
rubbing his eyes, and there was his mother 
standing beside the bed with a candle telling 
him to get up. 

“Don’t make a noise, and don’t ask any 
questions,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it 
later.” William obediently got up and dressed, 
his mother sitting on a chair watching him. 
From the other side of the room came the 
sound of deep breathing, varied by occasional 
snores. Matthew evidently was not to be a 
party in the exploit, whatever it was, a reflec- 
tion that gave William considerable satis- 
faction. 

His first idea had been that this was a puni- 

330 


Great Prudence and discretion 331 


live expedition, and that he was about to be 
dropped on with exceptional heaviness for 
some crime hereafter to be defined. Miss 
Comoran’s cook seemed the most likely ex- 
planation, but he soon abandoned this theory, 
because his mother did not seem at all in a 
punitive mood. She helped him to fasten his 
necktie, and saw to the brushing of his hair 
herself. 

He grew more and more mystified, and his 
astonishment reached its climax when, on fol- 
lowing his mother downstairs, he found wait- 
ing in the dining-room no less a person than 
Father Genicot. At this sight he pinched him- 
self cautiously to make sure it was not a dream. 

“Hullo, Willy,” said Father Genicot cheer- 
fully, “you’re a bit surprised to see me, aren’t 
you?” and William admitted that he was. A 
glance at the clock showed him that it was 
nearly eleven. 

“Well, I didn’t expect to be here myself, as 
your mother will tell you,” said Father Geni- 
cot, “but as a matter of fact we’ve got a rather 
important bit of business for you to do. Per- 
haps you’d better explain, Mrs. May.” 

“Come here, Willy,” said Mrs. May, and 
William came. She put her arm round his 
shoulder and drew him close to her. “You’ve 


332 Great Prudence and Discretion 


been a bad boy the last few days, haven’t you, 
Willy?” she said, but quite kindly. 

“Yes, mother,” said William in a very low 
voice, and blinking a little. 

“Well, now you’ve got a chance of making 
up for it,” she continued. “If you do what I 
want you to do to-night I shall forget all about 
the last few days, and I shall have something 
good to tell father when he comes home in- 
stead.” 

“Will I be let go down?” asked William 
eagerly. 

“Yes, you will,” said Mrs. May, “only mind 
you, it’s a difficult thing you’ve got to do. 
You mustn’t get frightened or lose your 
head or you’ll spoil it all. Do you under- 
stand?” 

“Yes, mother,” said William, forgetting 
everything in his eagerness to know what was 
coming. 

“It’s about your friend. Tommy Browne,” 
continued his mother. “He’s very ill now and 
he wants you.” 

William’s eyes opened wide with astonish- 
ment. “Tommy ill?'* he said. “Why, I saw 
him this afternoon.” 

“Very likely,” said Mrs. May. “He’s got ill 
since. He’s been locked up in the dark and 


Great Prudence and Discretion 333 

something’s frightened him. He’s got a very 
bad illness called brain fever.” 

William’s jaw dropped with horror at these 
words. “Is he — is he going to die?” he gasped. 

Mrs. May looked at Father Genicot, and 
Father Genicot nodded. 

“He’s so ill and it’s such a dreadful illness 
that quite possibly he may die,” said his 
mother. “Everything depends on whether they 
can get him quiet or not, and that’s what you’ve 
got to try to do. He’s been calling for you 
all the evening, and perhaps if you go and be- 
have very sensibly and talk to him just as 
though nothing had happened it may do him 
good. Do you see, Willy? You’ll try, now, 
won’t you?” 

William nodded. “I’ll try,” he said. 

“Mind you, Willy, he won’t be a bit like the 
Tommy you saw this afternoon,” continued his 
mother. “He’ll be in a room almost dark and 
shouting and talking nonsense. Very likely he 
won’t know you. And you’ve just got to be 
quiet.” 

“All ri’,” said William. He couldn’t quite 
understand why they were making such a fuss 
about it. It seemed simple enough. But he 
was sorry about Tommy being ill. 

“Well, go and put on your great coat, and 


334 Great Prudence and Discretion 

put these biscuits in the pocket to eat on the 
way,” continued his mother. “Father Genicot 
will take you to where Tommy is, and I shall 
come to fetch you back in the morning.” 

William nodded again and went away to 
carry out these directions. 

When the door had closed behind him 
Father Genicot glanced inquiringly at Mrs. 
May. “He seems to take it very quietly,” he 
said. “Do you think he understands?” 

“No,” said Mrs. May. “He’s only half 
awake at present. But he will when he gets 
there, and I can answer for it he won’t do any- 
thing silly, and his father would say the same. 
When he makes up his mind to do a thing he 
generally carries it through.” 

“Hum,” said Father Genicot. “Dr. Cam- 
eron, I believe, is against trying the experi- 
ment; it is Dr. Bellamy who wants it.” 

“Probably Dr. Bellamy has boys of his 
own,” said Mrs. May, and at that moment 
William returned, duly enveloped in his great 
coat. The whole thing had been so strange 
that, as his mother suggested, he had not as 
yet quite shaken off the impression that it was 
somehow a waking-up dream. 

Father Genicot rose when he appeared, and 
all three went out into the hall. At the door 


Great Prudence and Discretion 335 

Mrs. May stooped down and drew William to 
her again. 

“I Ve told Father Genicot that father and I 
can trust you, Willy,” she said, and William 
looked up gratefully. “All ri’, mother,” he 
answered, and kissed her and went away down 
the steps to where the cab was waiting. A 
moment later they were driving off through the 
almost deserted streets en route for the man- 
sion of Uncle James. 

Father Genicot did not talk much on the 
way, and William, thinking he was asleep, 
steadily munched biscuits and wondered why 
Tommy should be shouting for him, and 
whether it would mean that he could get off 
school to-morrow, and what Matt would think 
when he woke up in the morning and saw his 
empty bed. But just as they were turning the 
corner into Pulteney Street, the very corner 
where Mrs. Clementina had forgotten to stop 
the taxicab. Father Genicot suddenly broke 
the silence. 

“Willy,” he said, “did your father ever tell 
you what he does when he is in difficulties at 
sea?” 

“Yes, Father,” answered William; “he says 
the rosary.” 

“Well, I’d remember that to-night if I were 


336 Great Prudence and Discretion 

you,” said Father Genicot. “If you’re in diffi- 
culties think what your father would do.” 

Just as he said that the cab wheels suddenly 
left off making a noise, and William looked 
inquiringly out of the window. 

“That’s tan,” said Father Genicot; “they’ve 
put it down in the road so as to stop the carts 
and things making a noise.” 

“ ’Cos of Tommy?” asked William incredu- 
lously. It seemed impossible that such colossal 
precautions should be taken for the sake of so 
ordinary and unimportant a person. 

“Yes, because of Tommy,” answered Father 
Genicot, and at that moment the cab drew up 
before the door of No. 56. For the first time 
William began to realize that something awful 
and unusual had happened. The sudden 
silencing of the wheels as the cab drove onto 
the tan made a deeper impression on him than 
anything his mother or Father Genicot had 
said. There was something frightening in it, 
something suggestive of unknown and terrible 
things. He entered the portals of No. 56 with 
forebodings almost as gloomy as those with 
which Tommy had passed its threshold earlier 
in the day. 

The door was opened by Benjamin, and 
Father Genicot asked him if Dr. Bellamy was 


Great Prudence and Discretion 337 

downstairs. Benjamin thought he was, and 
Father Genicot said, “Tell him I’ve brought 
the boy.” 

Benjamin knocked at one of the doors and 
a moment later a stoutish gentleman dressed 
in a black frock coat came out. 

“Ha! Father, I’m very glad to see you 
back,” he said. “And this is Billy, I hope.” 
He held out a large tiand encouragingly, which 
William took and said, “How do you do, sir,” 
wondering a little how he came to know his 
name. 

“Yes, Dr. Bellamy,” said Father Genicot. 
“This is Billy, and I think you will find him 
satisfactory. I must leave him with you and 
be getting home,” he continued. “His mother 
will come for him in the morning. I suppose 
there’s no chance of my being able to see the 
other to-night.” 

“Not the very smallest,” said Dr. Bellamy. 
“The temperature has gone up a degree since 
you were here.” All the time he was speaking 
he had his eyes fixed on William, who was 
listening eagerly, though not understanding it 
all by any means. 

“You’ll send for me at once if there’s any 
change,” said Father Genicot, and Dr. Bel- 
lamy promised to. “Nothing will happen to- 


338 Great Prudence and Discretion 


night,” he said. ‘‘You can make your mind 
quite easy on that point.” 

“Good-by, Willy,” said Father Genicot, 
turning to him. “You’ll do just what Dr. Bel- 
lamy tells you, won’t you?” 

“Yes, Father,” said William. He did not 
quite like the idea of being left alone in this 
strange house, but he naturally was not going 
to say so. He shook hands with F ather Geni- 
cot and said “Good-night, Father,” quite 
quietly. Dr. Bellamy was still watching him 
closely. 

The interview had taken place in the hall, 
and when the front door closed behind Father 
Genicot the doctor beckoned to him and went 
back again into the room. “Come in here a 
minute, my boy,” he said, and William fol- 
lowed. Dr. Bellamy seated himself in a large 
arm chair and made William sit in a chair just 
opposite. The room was brilliantly lighted 
with electric light. 

For quite a long time the doctor sat silently 
gazing at him, the tips of his fingers joined 
together, and William began to feel uncom- 
fortable, and to wonder whether he was doing 
anything wrong. 

“How old are you, Billy?” asked Dr. Bel- 
lamy, at last breaking the silence, 


Great Prudence and Discretion 339 

“Twelve and a bit, sir,” said William. 

“And you know this poor lad very well, do 
you? You’re a great chum of his, eh?” asked 
Dr. Bellamy. “Been in scrapes together?” 

“Yes, sir,” said William. “Lots of times.” 
He began rather to like Dr. Bellamy. 

“Well, then, you’ll very probably be able to 
understand some of the things he says,” con- 
tinued the doctor. “You see he is delirious and 
doesn’t know what he is talking about, and of 
course we can’t tell. Now, if you do under- 
stand, I want you to say anything that comes 
into your head that you think will soothe him. 
Anything at all, it doesn’t matter what. If he 
recognizes you, say you’ve come to stop. You 
won’t mind that, will you? You’ll do it for 
your friend?” 

William nodded his head, horribly alarmed 
because he felt a sort of lump coming in his 
throat, and at that moment the door opened 
and another gentleman came in. This one was 
tall and had a thin face and gray hair and wore 
gold-rimmed glasses. He said something in a 
low voice to Dr. Bellamy and then turned and 
looked hard at William. Dr. Bellamy said 
something, and the other (it was Dr. Cameron, 
the well-known brain specialist) shrugged his 
shoulder^ and said, “Very well,” But he did 


340 Great Prudence and Discretion 

not speak to William, and he did not look at 
him particularly pleasantly. 

“Come along, Billy,” said Dr. Bellamy in a 
cheerful sort of voice; “take off your coat and 
your boots and we’ll go upstairs.” William 
rose at once and got ready, and followed Dr. 
Bellamy out into the hall. His heart was beat- 
ing rather fast, and following Father Genicot’s 
advice, he began to say “Hail Marys” as 
hard as he could. Dr. Cameron followed close 
behind, and he mounted the stairs between 
them, feeling like a prisoner between two big 
policemen. 

They went up two flights of stairs, and be- 
fore they had quite got to the top of the second 
William heard a noise. It was an indistinct 
sort of noise, which made him for some reason 
think of his mother’s big sewing machine when 
it was going full speed ahead. They went on 
down a passage until they came to a door, 
which Dr. Bellamy opened very cautiously, 
and then just as he opened it the noise stopped, 
and there came a scream such as William had 
never heard in his life before — it was the awful, 
inhuman scream of madness. 

He started back involuntarily, and Dr. 
Bellamy closed the door again. 

“I told you so,” said Dr. Cameron. “You 


Great Prudence and Discretion 341 

can’t expect it at his age,” and he held the 
candle he was carrying close to William’s face. 
With the best will in the world he could not 
help it being as white as a sheet. A great fear 
seized him that they weren’t going to let him 
try, after all, and that he might lose the coveted 
reward of being let go down. “I’m not afraid, 
sir, really I’m not,” he said eagerly. 

“Quite sure?” said Dr. Bellamy, holding his 
arm. 

“Not a bit, sir, honestly I’m not,” said Will- 
iam, looking up entreatingly. “I — I rather like 
it, I do really,” he added, and Dr. Bellamy 
nodded approvingly. Dr. Cameron sniffed. 
“Well, come in after me, then,” said Dr. Bel- 
lamy; “walk on tip toe, and wait where I put 
you until he calls for you again. Then go 
straight up to the bed and speak to him as nat- 
urally as you can. William nodded, and Dr. 
Bellamy opened the door a second time. 
There was no blood-curdling scream, but from 
behind the big screen shutting off the door the 
sewing machine-like sound revealed itself as 
some one talking very fast, sometimes quite 
loud and sometimes almost in a whisper, but 
always at the same terrific speed. 

William followed Dr. Bellamy in and stood, 
hardly daring to breathe, in the shadow of the 


342 Great Prudence and Discretion 

big screen. At first he thought the room was 
quite dark, but as he got used to it he saw that 
somewhere out of sight there must be a shaded 
light, because he was presently able to see the 
bed in the middle and a nurse sitting by the 
side, and something in the bed moving and 
tossing about. Dr. Bellamy stood by his side 
with one hand on his shoulder. 

The gabbling noise went on without pausing 
even for a moment, and presently William be- 
gan to be able to recognize what the thing (that 
was how he felt toward it; he did not feel a 
bit that it was Tommy) was saying. He dis- 
tinctly heard a bit of the multiplication table, 
and the Latin prepositions that govern the 
ablative, and the definition of a logarithm, 
which Mr. Colquhoun had taken such trouble 
to impress upon his class. And then the voice 
sank down and became a mere mutter, and he 
saw the nurse turn away her head for a mo- 
ment. 

And then without any warning the thing sat 
straight up in bed, and William saw it and 
felt sick for a moment, because it seemed as 
though the head had grown twice its ordinary 
size, and it had a great white bandage round 
it. They thought they had prepared him care- 
fully, but they had forgotten to tell him about 


Great Prudence and Discretion 34B 

the ice bag. But he had scarcely time to think 
of this new horror before the voice began in 
quite a different tone, and now for the first 
time he felt that it was Tommy. Oh^ please, 
uncle, don't; Fll never do it again, really I 
wont," it was saying. ''Oh, you don't know 
what's inside. He's inside — he's blowing down 
my neck — oh, Atty, go to heaven — you might 
go to heaven.” And then came another of 
those awful screams, and Dr. Bellamy patted 
William gently on the back. But it was not 
needed. He knew now that it was Tommy, 
and all that was good and brave in William 
rose up in answer to that cry. He saw the 
nurse with her arm round Tommy trying to 
pull him back, and then the summons came. 

"Billy, Billy, why don't you come?" he 
shrieked. “Oh, Billy, IVe always backed you 
up. Don’t be a sneak like Aleck; you were 
in it same as me.” William didn’t wait for any 
more. He walked boldly across the room and 
sat down on the chair beside the bed. 

“It’s all ri’. Tommy,” he said, “I’ve come.” 

Three people were listening breathlessly for 
the answer (Dr. Cameron was behind the 
screen) . The gabbling stopped for a moment. 

“Have you,” said Tommy, not quite so fast. 
“I thought you would, but the carpet’s spoiled 


344 Great Prudence and Discretion 


and shell never forgive me; she said she 
wouldn’t. He’s coming again! He’s coming 
again I and he blows down my neck. Oh ! don’t, 
Atty, don’t !” and again came the blood-freezing 
scream. The nurse put her arm round Tommy 
and pulled him down into the bed again, and 
William’s heart sunk. He had felt so sure 
that Tommy would recognize him, and that he 
would be able to make him quiet, and now he 
felt absolutely helpless. Nothing would ever 
stop that dreadful gabbling. 

‘T wish they wouldn’t stare so,” began the 
sick boy again. “It’s beastly of them, beastly 
eyes, beastly eyes. Billy’ll come, Billy’s not 
a coward like Aleck. Oh, Billy, Billy, why 
don’t you come?” 

“I have come. Tommy, really I have,” said 
William, and then with an inspiration, which 
may have come from his good little heart or 
may have been a present from somebody, he 
said in a loudish voice, “I was in it, same as 
Tommy.” 

At once the gabbling ceased, and William 
held his breath. There was no sound for a 
moment and then he saw in the dim light 
Tommy’s hand come creeping out toward him. 
He remembered the playground at once and 
knew what that meant, and stretched his own 


Great Prudence and Discretion 345 

out to meet it. Tommy’s fingers closed on it 
like a vice. 

“Good old Billy,” he murmured, almost 
quietly, “I knew you’d come.” And again 
there was a pause. 

“Don’t they stare?” he began again; “they’ve 
been staring like that all day.” 

“Let ’em,” said William; “who cares!” To 
his delight Tommy gave a little chuckle. 
“Stare away, you beasts,” he said. “Billy and 
me don’t care I Billy and me don’t care ! Billy 
and me don’t care!” 

“We’ll go to sleep jus’ to show them,” said 
our wise William, with a memory of what his 
mother used to say when he was little. He 
was beginning to feel highly pleased with him- 
self, and he gave a dramatic snore. Tommy 
made no response to this. The gabbling had 
stopped for quite a long time, but it began 
again now. 

“He’s coming again now, he always comes 
like that,” he said; “first his hands, and then 
his face without any eyes, and he blows ” 

“He isn't!' said William stoutly, and to his 
relief it stopped, and the grip on his hand grew 
tighter. It was beginning to hurt a good deal, 
but he hardly noticed it in his excitement. 

“Atty’sdead! Atty’s dead! Tommy killed 


346 Great Prudence and Discretion 


him! Tommy killed him!” he began in a sort 
of chant. William cut him short again. 

“No, he isn’t,” he said; “Atty’s all right. 
Didn’t Susy tell you?” 

“Susy, Susy, who’s Susy? Atty’s not Susy 
— Susy’s not Atty,” said the poor voice. But 
the ghost had been driven away. 

“Susy told you that Atty was all right, don’t 
you remember. Tommy?” said William ten- 
derly. “My sister Susy.” 

“Susannah Mary May, Susannah Mary 
May,” said Tommy, but much more quietly. 
“I’ll pay it her back. Susannah Mary May. 
Such a nice name. If I had a sister, chocolate 
caramels cost sixpence an ounce. From a 
friend, she’ll never know. My sister Susannah, 
I wonder what she'd like.” 

“She’d like you to go to sleep,” said William 
with another inspiration. “She said so.” 

“My sister Susannah wants me to go to 
sleep,” said Tommy. “She isn’t really, you 
know, but I pretend she is. My sister Susan- 
nah, if he doesn’t give it up I’ll knock his ugly 
head off.” 

“She wants you to go to sleep,” said Will- 
iam. “Don’t you remember. Tommy?” 

“My sister Susannah wants me to go to 
sleep,” said Tommy again. “My sister Su- 


Great Prudence and Discretion 347 

sannah wants me to go to sleep. I like her 
awfully, and she called me Tommy.” 

The nurse on the other side of the bed looked 
across at William and nodded approvingly. 

“She wants you to go to sleep,” said Will- 
iam again. “To shut your eyes and go to 
sleep.” He suited the action to the words, 
closed his own and gave another realistic snore. 

To his joy it was answered by one from 
Tommy. The nurse put her fingers to her lips 
and glanced across again with a warning look. 

For nearly five minutes there was no sound 
besides that of Tommy’s rather irregular 
breathing. Then he suddenly opened his eyes 
wide again. ''Susy!' he said, “short for 
sannah," His grip on William’s hand slack- 
ened a little, his breathing became deeper. The 
blessed sleep, how blessed only those who have 
watched by such a bedside can fully know, had 
come at last and brought peace to the poor tor- 
tured little brain. 

For the first few minutes William was so 
proud and elated at the thought of his success 
that he hardly noticed his own physical suffer- 
ings, and the nurse kept sending warning looks 
at him, and putting her finger to her lips. But 
after ten minutes of it his hand and arm began 
to ache dreadfully and the longing to move 


348 Great Prudence and Discretion 

became almost irresistible. Yet if he moved 
it was ten chances to one that Tommy would 
wake up and all be spoiled, for though his grip 
had relaxed a little, he still had tight hold of 
William’s hand. 

A terrible fear began to present itself, a fear 
that after all he might go and spoil everything, 
and be blamed instead of being rewarded and 
getting the coveted privilege. He glanced im- 
easily at Tommy, who muttered now and then 
in his sleep, and then across at the nurse, who 
every time she caught his eyes put her finger 
to her lips. He was just wondering how long 
he would be able to stand it when he found Dr. 
Bellamy at his side. He had come so noise- 
lessly that not a sound had betrayed his ap- 
proach, a wonderful feat considering he was a 
heavyish man. 

^"Capitair he whispered into William’s ear. 
“You couldn’t have done better. Can you hold 
on for a bit longer?” 

William nodded. He would, somehow he 
would, though the prospect of ten minutes 
more was pretty horrible. 

Dr. Bellamy looked at him, then he bent 
over and looked at Tommy and at Tommy’s 
hand. He paused a minute. “Billy, he whis- 
pered, “you mustn’t move, however much it 


Great Prudence and discretion 349 


hurts. Mind you, his life depends on it.” Then 
he stole away as noiselessly as he had come. 

This was a revelation to William, for though 
his mother had said that Tommy might die, he 
had seemed so very much alive that he had 
forgotten all about it. Now he understood 
what those shrieks and that horrid gabbling 
meant, and he kept on saying to himself, “If 
I move Tommy’ll die. If I move Tommy’ll 
die.” For a time it seemed to make things 
easier and even to quiet the ache in his arm. 

But it did not last. The pain came back 
again so bad that he had to grind his teeth to- 
gether hard to prevent himself from crying out. 
He would have to give in, something inside told 
him he would have to, and Tommy would wake 
up and begin screaming again and die. “I won’t ! 
I won’t!” he said to himself, but the tears came 
into his eyes, because of the fear that he might. 
He looked across to the nurse, but she only 
put her finger to her lips and shook her head. 
He hated her furiously. 

Dr. Bellamy came back again, and it was in 
William’s heart to ask him to stop, because it 
would be harder to give way if he were there 
to see. But he was too proud to do it when it 
came to the point and nodded his head when 
the doctor asked him if he could stand it. He 


350 Great Prudence and Discretion 

went away again, and William hated him, 
too. 

It was so dark, so horribly dark, and he was 
getting cramp in one of his legs, and when he 
tried to move it the chair creaked and sent his 
heart into his mouth. Even at that tiny sound 
Tommy stirred, and William saw quite clearly 
that the slightest move of his hand would wake 
him up. The tears were trickling down his 
face and he dare not try to wipe them away. 
“Oh, God, don’t let me move,” he said, “ ’cos I 
know I’m going to.” 

Once again the form of Dr. Bellamy loomed 
beside him. “Just a little longer,” he said. 
“Every minute’s a gain.” William nodded 
dolefully. It was all right for Dr. Bellamy to 
talk. 

Once again he was alone in the darkness 
wrestling with the torturing desire to pull 
away his hand. He seemed to see a picture of 
his hand with all the fingers stretched out and 
waggling about, which was all heaven to him 
just then. Again he ground his teeth together, 
and again he said, “Oh, God, I must, but don’t 
let me.” And then all of a sudden came the 
memory of the afternoon and the crucifix and 
Father Genicot and what his father did in a 
fog. And here, if you please, we will pause 


Great Prudence and Discretion 351 

and not pull back any more curtains, because 
there are some places much too sacred for a 
mere story-teller to go prying into. There is 
a Holy of Holies in everybody’s soul, which 
only the High Priest may lawfully enter. Next 
time Dr. Bellamy came he was surprised to see 
that William not only nodded, but grinned 
up at him courageously, a rather twisted but 
still unmistakable grin. And he continued this 
courageous demonstration at intervals of ten 
minutes for the next hour, though the grins 
grew steadily fainter, and were at last hardly 
recognizable as such. At the end of that time 
both doctors came in together and looked at 
Tommy and consulted together in whispers, 
and Dr. Cameron bent down and very, very 
gently unlocked his hand. And Tommy was 
by that time far away in the blessed land of 
1 sleep and did not notice. 

So William’s ordeal ended, and they helped 
him out together, and when he got outside the 
reaction came and he broke down altogether. 
Dr. Cameron picked him up and carried him 
downstairs, and they put him on a sofa and 
massaged his arm and put some ointment on 
his hand where the finger nails had run into 
the fiesh. And William all the time was crying 
like a baby and saying he wanted his mother. 


352 Great Prudence and Discretion 

And if you think meanly of him for that I 
make bold to say, dear sir or madam, that you 
are no better than a fool. 

They got him quiet at last and gave him 
something to drink, and he dried his eyes, or 
tried to. ‘T know it’s k-kiddish, but I c-can’t 
help it,” he said apologetically. Dr. Cameron 
was sitting on a chair beside him, and he shook 
his head at that. “No, no,” he said. “We’re 
much pleased with you; you’ve done just what 
we wanted. You’ve acted with great prudence 
and discretion.” 

“I know what I shall tell your mother when 
I see her to-morrow,” said Dr. Bellamy, who 
was standing up. “I shall tell her she ought to 
be proud of having such a plucky boy for her 
son.” 

William looked up gratefully and then 
yawned an enormous yawn. But that was be- 
cause the stuff they had given him to drink 
was a sleeping draught. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


SHORT BUT GLORIOUS 

rr^HE first thing William saw when he woke 
^ up next morning was Dr. Bellamy and his 
mother standing beside the sofa on which he 
was lying, and talking to each other. It took 
him a minute or two to remember where he was, 
and he sat up and stared about in rather a 
dazed sort of fashion. 

‘"Hullo!” said Dr. Bellamy; “had a good 
sleep?” William smiled rather faintly, but 
made no direct answer. His mother bent down 
and kissed him. 

“Well done, Willy,” she said. “I knew we 
could trust you.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Dr. Bellamy heartily. 
“I think you must make him a doctor, Mrs. 
May. He certainly has a natural turn for 
it.” 

“I’m going to be a sailor,” said William 
stoutly. 

“Ah!” said Dr. Bellamy. “Then if ever I go 
for a voyage I shall ask you to take me in your 
ship.” He meant to be agreeable and compli- 
mentary, but William thought it rather a silly 

353 


354 


Short hut Glorious 


remark, because the doctor seemed to think that 
ships went anywhere at haphazard, and that 
there were no such things as lines of steamers, 
so he made no answer. 

“Well, you’d better get up now, Willy,” said 
Mrs. May; “you won’t be wanted any more, 
but Mrs. Browne has some breakfast ready for 
you, and Dr. Bellamy says you must have a 
holiday to-day, so I shall leave you here. Don’t 
get into mischief and be home in time for 
dinner.” 

“Yes, mother,” said William, not unnat- 
urally elated at the news that he was free for 
the day, and his own master till one o’clock. 
He got up from the sofa and his mother pre- 
pared to depart. 

“You must allow me to thank you, Mrs. 
May,” said Dr. Bellamy, as he opened the door, 
“on behalf of Dr. Cameron and myself, for 
letting us have Willy’s help so promptly last 
night. As I told you, his courage and good 
sense have probably saved our little patient’s 
reason, and perhaps his life. I think you ought 
to be very proud of having such a plucky boy 
for your son.” 

Mrs. May turned and looked at William in 
a peculiar way. 

“Well, perhaps I am a httle bit, doctor,” she 


Short but Glorious 


355 


said. ‘‘Who knows, eh, Willy? And perhaps 
some one else will be a little proud, too, when 
he comes home.” Then she went away, leaving 
William the happiest boy, I verily believe, in 
all that big city whose name we always so care- 
fully leave unrecorded. 

The rest of that day was all glory for Will- 
iam. He had a bath in Uncle James’ sump- 
tuous bathroom, where the supply of hot water 
was unlimited, and you had not to bother about 
the one who came next complaining you had 
used too much. He had a truly regal breakfast 
in an enormous dining-room, which might have 
been awe-inspiring rather than agreeable had 
not Mrs. Gollop appeared on the scene and 
driven Benjamin away and made him feel at 
home. It was from Mrs. Gollop that he heard 
of Susannah’s exploit of the day before, and 
she declared that it was her firm belief that but 
for Susannah the poor lamb (meaning 
Tommy) would have been dead before they 
found him. She was enthusiastic in praise of 
Susannah’s pluck and intelligence. “Went off 
like a little soldier, so she did,” said Mrs. Gol- 
lop, and for the tiny fraction of a second (to 
tell the plain truth, as I always do) William 
felt the least little bit in the world jealous at 
the thought of having to share with another the 


356 


Short hut Glorious 


glory of having rescued Tommy. But he got 
over that and resolved to let his mother and 
the whole family know what Mrs. Gollop said. 
He thought it highly probable that Susannah’s 
lot that morning was likely to be cast in less 
pleasant paths than his own, as indeed it was, 
for she was kept in at school and got a bad 
mark for not knowing her lessons, not being 
able to explain her failure even to her beloved 
Sister Elizabeth. And though William kept 
his resolution, and Susannah was pardoned, she 
was not praised (I suppose rightly), and in 
fact got very little credit out of the affair. And 
yet I cannot help thinking that she showed, all 
things considered, almost as much pluck as 
William, and it is further my private opinion 
that Susannah’s prayers were at the bottom of 
a good deal of William’s success. Neverthe- 
less, as we shall see, the flags and trumpets 
went all to William, who was certainly worthy 
of them, though Susannah was not without a 
reward of a less public sort. 

After breakfast William had an interview 
with Uncle James in the library, an interview 
which neither enjoyed very much, but which 
Uncle James’ high sense of duty obliged him 
to undergo. He was exceedingly nervous and 
consequently so pompous and grandiloquent 


Short hut Glorious 


357 


that for a long time William thought he was 
being scolded and looked sulky and defiant, 
having naturally a prejudice against Uncle 
James as the author of Tommy’s misfortunes. 
However, when presently his host, with what 
was intended to be a jocular remark, tried to 
slip a sovereign into his hand, he understood 
that he was being praised and rewarded. He 
refused the sovereign on the ground that his 
mother did not like him to take money from 
strangers, but also because he himself did not 
like the idea of being paid for helping Tommy. 
The sacrifice to principle and duty was not 
really a severe one, because so large a sum as 
a sovereign would certainly have been appro- 
priated by his mother and added to his account 
in the savings bank. And what is the good of 
an account in the savings bank if your mother 
keeps your bank book, and wants to know why 
when you ask for it? 

Uncle James did not seem at all offended at 
his refusal, and put the sovereign back into his 
waistcoat pocket without a murmur. “Well, 
my boy, you’ve done me a great service,” he 
said, “a very great service indeed, and I shan’t 
forget it.” He held out his hand and gave 
William a squeeze which painfully recalled his 
sufferings of the night before. The interview 


358 Short hut Glorious 

then terminated, to the relief, I fancy, of both 
parties. 

At Mrs. Gollop’s invitation William waited 
to hear the report of the doctors after their 
morning visit. It was highly satisfactory; 
Tommy’s temperature was going down steadily 
and he was asleep again. His memory, as al- 
ways in such cases, had entirely gone, and it 
would be a long time before he would be able 
to see visitors, because he was very weak. ‘‘But 
when he does,” said Dr. Bellamy, “you shall 
be one of the first.” He said that Tommy’s 
mother had asked him to express her thanks to 
William, being too upset at present to see any 
one. This was a distinct relief, as William’s 
interview with Uncle James had taught him 
that this form of glory is apt to be embarrass- 
ing. 

He had just said good-by to Mrs. Gollop at 
the front door, and was standing admiring the 
Doctor’s splendid motor car waiting outside, 
when its owner came up behind him and asked 
him if he would like a ride. The next few hours 
he spent whisking from one end of the town 
to the other by the side of Dr. Bellamy’s chauf- 
feur, a most agreeable young man, who let him 
blow the horn all the time, and instructed him 
in the mysteries of driving during the rather 


Short but Glorious 


359 


long intervals of waiting while the Doctor was 
paying his visits. Finally, when the Doctor’s 
rounds were over, and he had said good-hy to 
William very kindly indeed, he told the chauf- 
feur to drive him home. His last remark was, 
“Don’t forget you’ve got to take me in your 
ship some day,” and William was so pleased 
with Dr. Bellamy by that time that he took 
the trouble to explain the difficulty, and gave 
him the names of the lines which would most 
probably secure his services and the ports to 
which its steamers went. Dr. Bellamy prom- 
ised to bear that in mind. 

The car dashed up Roscommon Street in 
fine style, and you may be sure there was 
plenty of tooting on the horn as they drew near 
No. 5. The windows were full of Mays of 
different ages and sexes watching him as he 
waved good-by to the chauffeur and ready to 
welcome him in the hall. Thus gloriously did 
William return to the paternal roof, who but 
two days before had crept, a terror-stricken 
and dishevelled fugitive, up those very steps to 
meet inside a retribution not less painful and 
humiliating because well merited. 

In the afternoon, after watching with in- 
finite satisfaction the rest of the family, and 
especially Matthew, depart to school, he went 


360 


Short hut GloriouB 


down by special permission to see Mr. Potts 
the Pilot, and Mr. Potts was able to take him 
for a little cruise down the river on his cele- 
brated launch, the Pandora^ and to get back in 
time for tea with Mrs. Potts, whose teas were 
famous. At night, after retiring, he had to 
recount the whole story of his adventures for 
Matthew’s benefit, which he did with modesty 
and no small satisfaction. Matthew was 
pleased to say that on the whole he had be- 
haved with as much enlightenment as could be 
expected from a kid. So the most memorable 
day in William’s life ended, and he went to 
sleep and dreamt of motor cars and chauffeurs 
and other such interesting subjects. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

THE BROTHERHOOD REUNITED 

TT^e must now return to Tommy, who for 
^ ^ many days after that eventful night was 
so weak and ill that he was not allowed to talk 
at all, and the room in which he lay was kept 
dark. Little by little his memory came back, 
and with it the burden of his troubles. Mrs. 
Clementina hardly ever left him, so as to be 
able to dissipate these vain fears as they arose. 
The thing that weighed upon him most was the 
carpet, and she was able to set his mind at ease 
on that point by telling him that Uncle James 
had promised to present a new one. During 
these long, long days, when Tommy scarcely 
ever woke from the sleeps which were slowly 
bringing him back to health without seeing 
Mrs. Clementina sitting by the side of his bed, 
they came to understand each other better than 
they had ever done before, for Tommy told his 
mother things he would never have told her 
while he was well, and in Mrs. Clementina’s 
mind the awful phantom of the youthful hooli- 
gan with the instincts of a savage and a natur- 
ally headstrong and obstinate disposition, 

361 


362 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


which Uncle James in his ignorance had con- 
jured up, vanished away for ever, and she 
knew that her Thomas was what she had always 
thought him, just an honest little boy who, like 
the rest of us, did silly things and was sorry 
for them, but whose heart was sound and prin- 
cipally occupied by his mother. There were 
white lines in Mrs. Clementina’s hair when at 
last the two returned to Laburnam Villa, but 
I doubt if she did not think her new-found 
knowledge bought cheaply at the price. 

For a long time the events which caused his 
illness remained as a sort of black cloud at the 
back of Tommy’s mind, but little by little even 
that cleared up, and he was allowed to talk 
about it and to ask questions. Attwood had 
been back at school some time when that stage 
was reached, and it seemed strange to Tommy 
that the parts should have been so entirely re- 
versed. He was not allowed to see visitors 
even then, or he would have asked to have Att- 
wood sent for. 

And indeed his first visitor, when at last Dr. 
Bellamy gave the necessary permission, was 
not Attwood, nor yet William, who it might be 
thought had the first claim, and indeed had 
been actually promised the privilege. His first 
visitor was no other than Susannah. Tommy 


The Brotherhood Beunited 


363 


heard of Susannah’s part in the proceedings, 
not from his mother but from Mrs. Gollop, 
who had taken charge of him one evening so 
that his mother might go out and get a little 
air. 

As we know, Mrs. Gollop was a warm ad- 
mirer of Susannah and she painted her ex- 
ploit in glowing colors. Tommy listened at- 
tentively throughout, but failed to respond to 
Mrs. Gollop’s enthusiasm. “Was I makin’ 
much noise then?” he asked anxiously, and 
Mrs. Gollop said of course he was, but that 
any one would have done the same, — she was 
sure she would have and more, — and that it was 
the most natural thing in the world. To all 
of which comforting assurances Tommy list- 
ened without answering, and when his mother 
returned he said he wanted something as a 
special favor. 

“What is it, my precious blessing?” said 
Mrs. Clementina tenderly. 

“Please, mummy dear, I want to see Susan- 
nah,” he said eagerly. Mrs. Clementina was 
silent for a moment. I fear she was not quite 
as grateful to Susannah as she ought to have 
been, a state of mind not unusual with regard 
to people who happen to have been in the right 
when we were wrong. But in the end of course 


364 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


she promised to speak to Dr. Bellamy about it, 
and Dr. Bellamy, to every one’s surprise, for 
Tommy’s progress had not lately been quite 
satisfactory, gave his consent. A note was ac- 
cordingly dispatched inviting Susannah to tea 
on the following day, a note which caused no 
little commotion in the May household when it 
arrived. William, in particular, was very hurt 
and upset, and this time more than a little 
jealous at finding another, and that other a 
girl, preferred to himself. However, there was 
no avoiding facts, and the next day Matthew 
(for William, I regret to say, was sulking) es- 
corted Susannah to number 56, where she was 
effusively greeted by Mrs. Gollop and pre- 
sented in the first place to Aunt Maria. Mrs. 
Clementina was out that afternoon. 

And after a little conversation with Aunt 
Maria, conducted on Susannah’s part in ac- 
cordance with the best models, and such as even 
the author of “Politeness Costs Nothing” 
(Madame Eugenie Delaport-Hutchinson) 
would have approved, she was conducted up- 
stairs by Mrs. Gollop. Tommy was sitting up 
in bed, propped by pillows and looking so thin 
and weak and ill that Susannah was quite up- 
set. “Oh, Tommy, I am so sorry,” she said, 
and Tommy said he was much better and going 


The Brotherhood Reunited 365 

to get up next week, and had grown a lot and 
would probably grow some more and she might 
tell William. He asked her to take a seat, 
which she did, and then they both suddenly 
felt shy, and regretted that Mrs. Gollop had 
withdrawn. There was a long pause. 

‘T hope you’ll soon be better,” said Susannah 
at length, and Tommy thanked her and said he 
thought he would. Then there was another 
pause which stretched out to a quite appalling 
length. 

‘T say, you know,” said Tommy, breaking it 
at last, “you won’t mind if I ask you some- 
thin’, will you?” He spoke rather nervously, 
and without looking at his visitor, and did not 
wait for an answer. “That night you know, 
you heard, didn’t you? Me in the cellar, you 
know. You did hear, didn^t you?” 

Susannah nodded. 

‘T know I was makin’ a horrid row,” he con- 
tinued hurriedly, “but I thought Atty was 
dead, and I thought he was down there, too. I 
know it was kiddish, but I couldn’t help it, 
really I couldn’t. I believe even Billy would 
have.” 

‘T didn’t think it was that a bit^ I didn’t 
really said Susannah honestly, and I knew 
you couldn’t help it, and I knew you were 


366 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


awfully brave ’cos of my money box,” she drew 
her chair a little nearer to Tommy, not know- 
ing in the least the flood of consolation her 
words had poured upon his soul. 

Tommy looked at her gratefully. ‘T’d do 
it again any time,” he said, ‘T’ll make him say 
he’s sorry if you like.” 

‘‘We’ve made friends now, at least Willie 
has,” said Susannah, “and he’s had a good 
thrashing for not owning up like Willie, and 
it’s done him a lot of good, Willie says.” 

“Has he?” said Tommy with interest. “I 
suppose Willie knows?” 

“Knows what?” asked Susannah. 

“About me shoutin’,” said Tommy rather 
shamefully. 

Susannah shook her head. “I didn’t tell 
him,” she said. “I didn’t tell anybody ’cept 
your mother ’cos I thought they wouldn’t un- 
derstand.” 

“Oh, Susy,” said Tommy, venturing for the 
first time upon that familiarity. “You are a 
decent sort,” and then he suddenly turned over 
and disappeared under the bedclothes. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Susannah some- 
what alarmed. 

“It’s all ri’,” came in muffled tones. “I have 
to do this ’cause I’m ill.” He reappeared almost 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


367 


immediately with certain tell-tale marks on his 
face which Susannah was much too kind and 
tactful to notice. A tremendous weight had 
been lifted from Tommy’s mind, a weight 
which Mrs. Clementina and all the other 
grown-ups concerned would have been power- 
less to remove. The thought of what the boys 
would say if this detail was revealed had per- 
haps been responsible for the slowness of his 
recovery. He was so grateful to Susannah 
that he could find no words to express it and 
lay looking at her and blinking now and then 
and smiling. And Susannah, her shyness quite 
gone, as if by magic, felt exceedingly happy 
and smiled back at him and patted his hand 
and pulled his pillows straight, bustling about 
like a little mother. Things had come to this 
happy pass when Mrs. Gollop entered with 
the tea. 

Her first impulse when she saw the state 
Tommy was in was to bundle his visitor out 
straight away. However, at the first sugges- 
tion of such a proceeding the invalid caught 
hold of Susannah’s hand and showed so much 
eagerness in detaining her that Mrs. Gollop 
gave way, and they had a very comfortable tea 
together, Susannah pouring out and Mrs. 
Gollop hovering about and helping to keep the 


368 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


conversation going. It was a good thing, I 
fancy, that Mrs. Gollop stayed, for Tommy 
had conceived the romantic project of kissing 
Susannah’s hand (Sir Vere Vereker performs 
the operation several times on Lady Ermin- 
trude’s slender taper fingers in the “Blood- 
stain on the Boulder”), and being a very shy 
boy it would certainly have excited him a good 
deal, while I fancy Susannah would have been 
inclined to laugh, if not too astonished to do 
anything. Mrs. Gollop’s prosaic presence 
obliged him to give up the idea, and she organ- 
ized on her own account a demonstration which 
was much more effective and equally consoling. 
For when at last Susannah rose to go and 
Tommy held out his hand to say good-by, she 
suggested an amendment. “Give him a kiss, 
Missie,” she said; “poor lad, he’s been through 
a lot,” and Susannah did without making any 
fuss about it, a good honest, rather unromantic 
smack, for which Tommy was immensely grate- 
ful. So ended the interview in which Susannah 
got her reward, a small one you may think, but 
very lasting, for Tommy never forgot. 

After that he began to get better very 
rapidly, and within a week William was ad- 
mitted. We need not go into all the details 
with regard to that visit, which was at first not 


The Brotherhood Reunited 369 

at all a success, for Tommy, though very grate- 
ful and anxious to express his gratitude, was 
terribly afraid of doing something to comprom- 
ise himself, being still very weak, and the un- 
usual circumstances of their meeting made 
William shy and uncomfortable. 

Things improved a good deal, however, 
when they got on the subject of Alexander, a 
subject on which William had much interesting 
information to furnish. Mainly through the 
energy and acuteness of Mr. Colquhoun, Alex- 
ander’s guilt as regards the blackboard and his 
complicity in the Attwood affair had been 
brought home to him, and he had been visited 
with the extreme penalty of the law. He 
blubbed like a kid all afternoon school,” said 
William, “and nobody’d speak to him, and 
Potter caught him next day and spanked him, 
too, so he caught it a bit all round.” 

“Poor old Aleck,” said Tommy, “I never 
thought he’d let Potter catch him.” 

“Bein’ licked seemed to knock all the go out 
of him,” said William. “He’d blub almost if 
you only looked at him, and you’d think he 
couldn’t swagger if he tried. It’s done him a 
lot of good I think.” 

“Have you made friends with him now?” 
asked Tommy. 


370 The Brotherhood Reunited 

William nodded. “His sister asked my sis- 
ter to ask me to,” he answered; “she said he 
was most awful miserable ’cos nobody’d speak 
to him and they thought he was getting ill. So 
I did, and he was most tremenjously grateful. 
He wants to be a Black Brother again, and he 
says he was a cad for not backin' us up. He’s 
not a bit like what he used to be.” 

“Did you say we would?” asked Tommy. 

“Yes,” said William, “I thought you 
wouldn’t mind, and he was more tremenjously 
grateful than ever. He said he was so miser- 
able the Saturday before that he meant to run 
away, only his sister was sewing a button on 
his Sunday trousers, and he couldn’t run away 
in shorts. You can see from that the sort of 
state of mind he was in.” 

Tommy nodded. “I’m glad he’s come back,” 
he said, “I always liked old Aleck.” 

“So did I, in a way,” said William. “Lots 
of the chaps won’t speak to him still, and Pot- 
ter kicks him a bit now and then, but he 
doesn’t mind now that I’m backing him up. 
He’ll be awfully glad to hear you are too.” 

“You might ask him to come and see me,” 
said Tommy. “Ask him to come to-morrow.” 

“All ri’,” said William a little doubtfully, 
“but don’t say anything to make him ruffed 
up again.” At that juncture Mrs. Clementina 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


371 


arrived on the scene, and was introduced to 
William, who shortly afterwards took his de- 
parture. The accounts of Tommy’s mother 
given by Susannah had not impressed him 
favorably. 

The next day Alexander duly presented 
himself and was admitted. He came in looking 
extremely solemn, and sat nervously on the 
edge of his chair, and made the usual polite in- 
quiries about Tommy’s health. He, like Will- 
iam, found the unusual circumstances of the 
meeting somewhat embarrassing, and he had 
further a confession to make, which added to 
the difficulties of the situation. 

‘Tt’s all ri’, Aleck,” said Tommy, guessing 
more or less what was the matter. “Billy’s told 
me, and I’m jolly glad you’ve come back.’ 

“Did Billy tell you about me being licked?” 
said Aleck, and Tommy nodded assent. 

“I dessay he said I blubbed,” said Aleck, 
“but it wasn’t because of being licked, but be- 
cause of what Daddy Jim said. Billy needn’t 
talk, he’d ’ve blubbed too.” Tommy nodded 
sympathetically. 

“Did he tell you about Potter catchin’ me?” 
asked Aleck, and Tommy again assented. “I 
never thought you’d let him,” he said. 

“I let him on purpose,” said Aleck, turning 
rather pink. 


372 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


Tommy’s eyes opened wide. “Why ever?” 
he asked with astonishment. 

“I wanted to make up,” said Aleck, turning 
still pinker and looking at him rather wistfully, 
“ ’cos I was beastly sorry for not backing you 
and Billy up, really I was. Tommy. Only 
don’t tell Billy, ’cos he’d think it soft.” 

Tommy was immensely touched and im- 
pressed at this striking proof of repentance, 
and remained intent for a moment. 

“And I told Aggie about me being in it, 
same as you and Billy ; she cried like anything, 
but I told her,” continued Aleck. “And I’ve 
been to my jooties and I’ll always back you up 
another time, really I will. Tommy.” The 
eyes of the usually self-possessed Alexander 
were brimming with tears, and Tommy was 
still more deeply impressed. “It’s all ri’, 
Aleck,” he murmured, and held out his hand, 
which Alexander grasped gratefully. 

“I really always will,” he said, and in this 
way the Black Brotherhood once more came 
into being. Only now there was rather more 
of the brotherhood about it, and perhaps a little 
less of the blackness. 

It was Mrs. Clementina again who inter- 
rupted the conversation, and she insisted on 
making a sketch of Alexander, who, as I have 
hinted, was by no means devoid of personal at- 


The Brotherhood Reunited 


373 


tractions. Before the interruption Tommy 
had with some difficulty obtained permission 
to tell William of the real meaning of the Pot- 
ter episode, and before Alexander left a meet- 
ing had been arranged at which all three should 
be present and solemnly ratify their reunion. 
It took place a day or two later, and there I 
should be content to leave the Black Brothers 
but for the fact that I have one or two more 
notable events to chronicle. 

The first of these is the surprising generosity 
of Uncle James. Uncle James, as may be sup- 
posed, had had a terrible fright, and in the 
first flush of gratitude at the happy termina- 
tion of the adventure, he asked to be allowed 
to pay for all the rest of Tommy’s education, 
and to send him to the University. Nay more, 
he insisted on Mrs. Clementina’s taking 
Tommy for the Christmas vacation to Cannes, 
which is, I understand, an attractive town on 
the Mediterranean Sea, to complete his re- 
covery. And in case Tommy might feel the 
want of male society, William was invited to 
accompany him. Thus did Uncle James keep 
his promise of not forgetting. 

Yet even this was not the crown of Will- 
iam’s glory, for a full account of his exploit 
had reached Captain May on his way home, 
and when William and Matthew went down 


374 The Brotherhood Reunited 

to the bar with Mr. Potts in the Pandora to 
meet the Buluwayo, Jack, who met them as 
they stepped on board (he was, you may re- 
member, an officer on that famous vessel), in- 
formed them that William was to go to the 
Captain at once on the bridge. This was an 
honor which had never befallen any of the 
family before, and William was almost over- 
come as he followed his brother up the steps, 
thinking how smart he looked in his uniform. 
At the top of the steps the Captain met them. 
“Well done, old man,” he said, patting him on 
the back. “Come up here and help Mr. Potts 
navigate the ship.” 

So William, in the face of all the world and 
especially of the passengers who were flutter- 
ing about on the deck below, sailed magnifi- 
cently up the river by the side of his illustrious 
father, and burst upon the family group on the 
dock wall in that position. And he helped the 
man who was working the machine which con- 
veys the captain’s orders to the engine room, 
turning it from full speed ahead to half speed, 
from half speed to slow, and from slow to stop 
dead. And this last signal is obviously a 
hint that it is time to bring this long and 
complicated narrative of adventures to a 
close. 


EPILOGUE 


S OME people like to know how everything 
ends in a story, and as the modern craze 
for realism prevents me saying “they lived 
happily ever afterwards,” something has to he 
provided by way of a winding up. So, with 
a view to satisfying this demand I offer a few 
notes as to the subsequent careers of the vari- 
ous persons whose fortunes we have for so long 
been following. 

To begin with the most dignified and ex- 
alted, the Reverend Doctor Whales. Dr. 
Whales, very shortly after the events here dealt 
with, abandoned the scholastic profession and 
went out as a missionary to South Africa. 
Many people thought it odd, but they were 
not, for the most part, people who knew Dr. 
Whales. After many years of missionary 
labor be became Mgr. Whales, and is now 
Vicar-Apostolic of the M’Gombo district and 
titular bishop of Hippopotopolis. He is said 
to be in high favor in Rome, a prominent mem- 
ber of the Curia having been heard to remark 
(after a prolonged interview with his lord- 
ship) that the Bishop of Hippopotopolis was 
a very remarkable prelate. 

375 


376 Epilogue 

Father Genicot, I regret to say, is dead. He 
died of an attack of confluent pneumonia, 
caught while presiding at a penance drill. He 
died just as the boys were going out for morn- 
ing recess, and the noise of their voices was the 
last sound he heard on this planet. His death 
was very quiet and very businesslike. “My 
boys will get me out of purgatory,’’ he gasped 
just before the end, and I should not be sur- 
prised if he was right. Some of them, I know, 
did their best. 

Mr. Colquhoun, to descend a step in the 
hierarchy, is now headmaster of the Grim- 
borough Institute, where he does very little 
teaching, but corrects, as beautifully and re- 
morselessly as ever, a very large number of 
examination papers. Mr. Tanqueray still 
teaches in the college, and is, if possible, slightly 
less amiable and more unobservant. 

To come now to the lower orders. Tommy, 
whom we will deal with first, is, from a worldly 
point of view, the most prosperous, being a 
junior partner in the firm of Browne, Patter- 
son and Appolonaris (Uncle James’ firm). 
His illness had one rather peculiar effect upon 
Tommy, for whereas before it he had shown 
no marked aptitude for mathematics, after he 
had recovered he became quite a proficient in 


Epilogue 


377 


the subject, and by the time he reached the 
sixth was a good second to Attwood, and run- 
ning him hard. Possibly the mathematical lobe 
of his brain had been in some way stimulated 
by his adventure in the cellar, and some day 
perhaps, when educational methods are more 
scientifically developed, boys and girls who are 
slow in this all-important subject will be 
treated in a similar way. There are certainly 
cases to be met with which seem to call for some 
sort of surgical treatment. 

Tommy won a scholarship at the University, 
where he did brilliantly. A paper he read be- 
fore the Ricardo Society on Bi-metallism was 
afterwards published as a pamphlet, and may 
be obtained for the small sum of one penny 
from the publishers, Messrs. Burst and Stuck- 
ett. There will be no difficulty in obtaining a 
copy, for the sale was not large (although the 
“Economist’’ praised it as a promising effort, 
and the “Statistical Review” said it should look 
with interest for Mr. Browne’s next work) , be- 
ing principally limited to copies purchased by 
Uncle James for presentation purposes. In- 
deed, the venture had been throughout financed 
and supported by the same gentleman, whose 
relations with Tommy quite changed after the 
accident. It seemed to give him a new interest 


378 Epilogue 

in his nephew ; he watched his career with grow- 
ing pride, and at the close of his university 
course offered him a very good position in his 
office, an offer which Tommy accepted. Here 
he developed businesslike qualities of a high 
order, and on the occasion of his marriage was 
made a junior partner. He will some day be 
a rich man, for Uncle James makes no secret 
of the fact that Tommy is to be his heir, and he 
will, on Uncle James’ retirement, become head 
of the business. 

He married a lady with whom the reader is 
already acquainted — Miss Susannah Mary 
May, daughter of Commander May, R.N.R., 
and the wedding, which took place at St. 
Stephen’s Church, was a very magnificent one, 
the entire ship’s company of the Buluwayo 
(Captain John May) and of the Manichee 
filling a large portion of the body of the church. 
The Manichee at the time numbered two of 
the bride’s brothers among her crew, her first 
officer being no other than our old friend Will- 
iam, and one of the apprentices, Mr. James 
Arthur May. The bride was given away by 
her father, who was in full uniform and looked 
very magnificent. The bride’s party on the 
whole was the more imposing company, num- 
bering among it so many gentlemen in uni- 


Epilogue 


379 


form, yet no single figure in it could bear com- 
parison with that of the bridegroom’s mother. 
In the account of the wedding in the local 
papers two whole lines were devoted to Mrs. 
Clementina’s costume, and her head-dress was 
of oxidized passementerie (if you know what 
that is) , with ostrich brush and lace insertions. 
But apart from Mrs. Clementina, there was 
only Uncle James, whom the unwonted atmos- 
phere of a Catholic Church made nervous, and 
Aunt Maria, who failed to live up to her ex- 
pensive dress, and Mrs. Golightly, who sat at 
the back and wept during the whole ceremony, 
to the annoyance of Mrs. Gollop, her neighbor, 
who was out to enjoy herself, and had on her 
lap two pounds of rice and an old shoe wrapped 
up in a brown paper parcel. She had traveled 
a considerable distance in order to be present 
at the wedding, having some years before 
quitted Uncle James’ service and gone to keep 
house for her son, the station master at Rhualt 
Machdywddy, an important junction in 
Wales. He had been left a widower, and Mrs. 
Gollop looks after his seven children. 

Among the guests who assembled at No. 5 
Roscommon Street for the wedding breakfast 
were Professor Attwood (whose treatises on 
“Homogeneous Strains” and “Some Two Di- 


380 


Epilogue 


mensional Problems in Electrostatics” have 
lately attracted considerable attention) and 
Mr. Alexander Comoran. Mr. Comoran’s 
present to the bride and bridegroom (for he was 
invited as the friend of both parties) took the 
form of cutlery, Alexander being traveler for 
the eminent Sheffield firm of Jevons, Blake and 
Golly, and considered, too, one of the smartest 
of their men on the road. His hair is still curly 
and yellowish, and time has added a very ele- 
gant mustache of the same hue and texture. 
At school his later career was not brilliant, and 
he disappointed the hopes of his aunt and sister 
by failing to get a scholarship, or indeed to get 
anything at all, except a good deal of well- 
merited abuse for unmitigated and hopeless 
laziness. He left somewhat under a cloud a 
year after William entered on his first year’s 
apprenticeship, but Father Genicot was re- 
ported to have said that he would fall on his 
feet, and he did. Though without Tommy’s 
interest to push him, his rise in the commercial 
world was almost as rapid, and at the date of 
the wedding he was already prosperous, as the 
handsomeness of his present and the smartness 
of his gray frock suit, and his orchid, and his 
gold sleeve links, and his beautiful boots clearly 
revealed to the discerning eye. His aunt and 


Epilogue 


381 


Miss Aggie (headmistress now of the Herman 
Stophkinder Institute) , who were likewise at 
the wedding, thought him the handsomest man 
present, and perhaps he was. 

All wedding breakfasts are much the same, 
so I do not propose to describe this one in de- 
tail. There were a good many speeches. Uncle 
James in particular distinguishing himself, and 
Alexander brought down the house by a spir- 
ited description of the money-box incident in 
the days of long ago. Every one agreed that 
it was most touching and romantic, and every 
one was pleased with Alexander’s modesty in 
describing himself as the villain of the piece. 
The wedding presents, which were laid out in a 
room upstairs (the very nursery in which 
James Arthur and the bride had had their noc- 
turnal interview), were duly admired, Mrs. 
Clementina’s portrait of Susannah and Uncle 
James’ offering of jewelry coming in for espe- 
cial praise. And then the carriage and pair 
arrived, and there were pathetic scenes in the 
hall, and the happy pair disappeared into the 
carriage, the door being closed by the first 
officer of the Manichee, who had a last hug 
from the bride very like the hugs of the old 
Susannah, and a grip from the bridegroom 
which recalled his sufferings on a certain event- 


382 


Epilogue 


ful night in the long ago. And when at last 
the carriage drove off, the first officer did not 
re-enter the house, but strode off to the docks 
and spent the remainder of the day and all that 
night in the seclusion of his cabin on the 
Manichee, smoking a good many more cigars 
than were good for him. For though he was 
very glad indeed, you understand, he did not 
want to see anybody just then, for it seemed 
as though he had lost at one blow his best friend 
and his faithful little sister. For similar rea- 
sons Mrs. Clementina drove home alone, and 
remained locked up in her bedroom all the rest 
of the day, refusing even Mrs. Golightly’s sug- 
gestion of cocoa. Alexander spent the evening 
quietly at his hotel, and thought a good deal 
of Miss Jane O’Docherty. And I hope he will 
think about her a good deal more, for she is a 
very sensible young lady, and will keep Alex- 
ander in order and make him (I trust) smoke 
an honest pipe, instead of the abominable and 
expensive cigarettes, of which at present he 
consumes a prodigious number. 

Tommy and Susannah settled down at Tan- 
dem Villa, but moved a few years afterward to 
Beacon House, which is well outside the city 
and stands in its own grounds, from certain 
points of which there is a most charming view 


Epilogue 


383 


of the distant river and its shipping. In this 
garden many reunions of the Black Brother- 
hood have been held, and doubtless will be held, 
and in this eligible mansion Tommy and Su- 
sannah are as happy as people can be in an 
imperfect world with a variable climate, and 
have quite a number of second-edition Tommys 
and Susannahs to keep them from getting dull. 
And if I follow their fortunes any further I 
shall find myself involved in the adventures of 
Thomas Clement, who is already a prepara- 
tory, and so shall be forced to begin a new 
book. Which would be a misfortune from 
every point of view. 

Whether Dr. Bellamy ever redeemed his 
promise of going for a voyage on William’s 
ship I do not know, but I had myself that priv- 
ilege, and a proud man I was, strolling at will 
in and out of the captain’s cabin (he is Cap- 
tain William now), and the chart room, and 
other sacred places, and smoking the captain’s 
cigars in a luxurious deck chair (with arms) 
especially provided for my comfort. We had 
some rather dirty weather during the trip, and 
I could swear I heard the captain shout on one 
occasion, “Port your helm, you silly idjut!” 
though he tells me it must have been imagina- 
tion, and that memory played me false. A 


384 


Epilogue 


fellow-passenger remarked to me on that occa- ♦ 
sion that our captain seemed a very smart and 
reliable ofBcer, to which I gave a ready assent, 
adding with a burst of, I trust, pardonable 
pride, that he was an old pupil of mine (the 
secret is out at last). 

“Really!” said my fellow-passenger. “It 
must be a very interesting thing to be a school- 
master.” 

“Yes,” I said, “I think it is. Do you know, 

I really think it is.” 


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